OTS2: The Second Chance
by shivakantha
Summary: Teresa and Newt are alive. Set post-TDC, sequel to The Death Cure (alternate ending); The second chance for humanity after the crime committed by the PFC. Somewhat fluffy, significant amounts of Thomesa romance.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

 **Sequel to: The Death Cure (alternate ending) [s/11419369]**

"Subject A5's recovery is something that needs to be studied," Randall Spilker insisted. "It appears that the structure of the internal section of the subject's prefrontal cortex has been imitating that of an immune, fooling the virus."

Ava Paige shook her head. "No, Dr Spilker. We don't have the resources for this. Plus, the number of uninfected individuals is at an all-time low. It's already dipped below the number of immunes, and it's dropping drastically. We need to focus on rescuing _them_."

"I agree with Dr Paige," Mary Cooper added. "I just got the news. The cities of Toronto, Warsaw, Moscow, and Auckland have simultaneously burst into chaos. Crank Palaces are bursting all over the world since the Denver disaster. Bergs are being shot down in the Scorch and hijacked by Cranks. I don't know how they can plan all this, but … it's happening."

"Hate to say it, Randall," Ladena Lichliter said, "But I agree with Dr Paige, too. It appears that the internal structure of Subject A5's prefrontal cortex is of genetic origin. It's impossible to get enough subjects for trials on further trials, and considering the amount of mental trauma that A5 has suffered, I doubt he will be able to respond sharply to the variables any longer. It would be better to test the vaccine on him."

Jonathan Maldoon didn't seem to have such a clear opinion. "I'm torn on this," he said. "I do wish that we do our best to slow down the Flare the best we can, but I agree with Dr Paige, Dr Cooper, and Dr Lichliter. Even if we do manage to get a cure from this, it will only stop Cranks from reaching the Gone, and allow them a chance of recovery. The chances of surviving a removal of the Flare's cocoon without damaging the brain are very slim. I doubt that many would go for the surgery."

"We can always use the Bliss, Mr Maldoon," Randall Spilker interjected.

"No," Ladena Lichliter shook her head adamantly. "The Bliss is an expensive drug. It would be foolishness to expect to be able to distribute it to the world's population. Unless we plan on some ridiculous population control ideas like the Population Control Committee." She rolled her eyes in disgust at the thought, even taking Randall Spilker aback.

"Besides, do we want to see a human population that runs on the Bliss?" Ava Paige questioned. She sighed. "The only hope left for the human race is the backdoor that we have already implemented. The human race will have to begin anew."

"Where _does_ the backdoor lead, anyway?" Ladena Lichliter asked.

"That, I'm afraid, is confidential." Ava Paige replied. "We cannot have fringe elements attempting to recapture the only remaining hope for mankind."

She paused. "As for Subject A5, we will test the vaccine on him, and if everything works, we will send him to safety." She paused again. "We'll also distribute the vaccine in cities, but the most important priority at present is to stop Janson."

The meeting was dismissed, as WICKED employees scattered around the complex, leaving only Ladena and Randall in the meeting room.

"You think it will work?" Randall asked. "The backdoor?"

"I don't know," Ladena shrugged, her voice a soft whisper. "I remember Thomas. And Teresa. I think they would be great leaders but … with Thomas having his memories wiped, and Teresa so widely disliked … I don't know."

Randall sighed. "It's all Janson's fault. By manipulating the Swipe to obstruct Thomas's rationality for his personal envy of the immunes … he's put the human race in danger. Not that it ever wasn't in danger."

"I hope it wears out. It's supposed to, right?"

"Lots of things were supposed to happen," Randall paused. "The PFC was supposed to manage the solar flares. The Flare was supposed to offer a quick and painless death. WICKED was supposed to find a cure."


	2. Chapter 1

The Gladers and Group B spent the evening talking about their individual Phase III trials, recounting the times at WICKED. Their escape was merely hours ago, yet it felt like an eternity had passed since they arrived in Paradise.

Thomas learned that the "aliens" in the Berg back in the Scorch had instructed the Gladers to stay in the same hut for a few hours before they fixed his infection.

The two groups exchanged their Glade vocabularies. Thomas already knew from Aris that Group B's term for _shank_ was _stick_ , and it turned out that their term for _shuck_ was _shoot_ , and they called their Glade, _The Square_. Frypan explained that the Glader slang was invented by the original 30 Gladers back at WICKED, before the Glade, and commented that _the Squarer slang is just a third-rate plagiarism of ours_ , a comment which Harriet and Sonya vehemently opposed.

Teresa's Phase-III trial was the same as Thomas's, except she didn't receive Brenda's warning. While Thomas had been going crazy over his own body's smell, he imagined Teresa to be crying everyday over the entire betrayal scenario. The image saddened him so much he hated himself. Frypan and Clint said they wiped their memory of their Phase-III trials, and only let them remember that they had a Phase-III trial. The conversation with Teresa he had at the beginning of his own Phase-III trial turned out to be not with Teresa at all, but a computer that mimicked her voice in his head. He felt like slapping himself for not being able to recognise the voice correctly.

But what really stood out to Thomas, was Minho's Phase-III trial.

Minho sighed as he began his talking, an expression Thomas didn't remember hearing from his friend before. "I don't really know how to make any sense out of my trial. After treating me luxuriously for about three days, Rat Man came to collect me and send me to my trial. He told me that my trial was the easiest one decided upon.

It sure wasn't for me. He told me that I'll just have to answer a single question, and that the proceedings of the trials will be based on my response. They put me in a small room, and next thing I know, 20 armed guards charge at me and chain me to a wall.

Some random dude started writing names of all surviving Gladers and uh … _Squarers_ , on a chalkboard. Well, all of them besides Thomas and Teresa. Frypan. Aris. Sonya. Clint. Jackson. Harriet. Newt." his voice quivered at the last name. After a long pause, he continued. "And some others I forgot. For some reason, also Brenda and Jorge. Asked me if I knew all of them.

I thought it was too easy, that that was the only question to be asked. Well, they lied. What a surprise. Told me that this question was just _preparatory work_." He paused to roll his eyes. "Anyway, I told them I didn't, and he asked me to list the names I didn't know, and rubbed them off."

He paused for a while, as if afraid to continue. His voice had begun to shake. "Then they told me they're going to cut up all of their brains for dissection, but I could choose one to save. His question was, 'Whom do you choose?'. I kept refusing to choose, saying 'All of them', and he kept punching me in the nose, threatening to continue until I chose."

Thomas's mind started spinning. Would they all have been killed, like he almost was, if Minho hadn't saved them? Or was it really just a trial?

Minho shrugged as he continued. "Well, it was really weird. The same thing continued for about an hour, then he started stabbing at my limbs with a screwdriver. 5 stabs later, he told me I was good to go. It was really weird."

Thomas felt uneasy about Minho's tone. It seemed pained, sad, and … wasn't typical of Minho at all. It was as if it had an odd pain of loss to it. The same pain he had seen in Aris's voice that seemed to deepen whenever he talked about Rachel. A pain he himself had experienced whenever he thought of Chuck.

Minho jolted him out of his thoughts. "Okay, Thomas. Your turn. Tell us what the shuck they did to you when you went back to WICKED to plant the Right Arm's device."

Thomas cleared his throat and took a moment to gather his thoughts. "It wasn't a trial. They cut me open and took my brain to study it."

"What?" Teresa.

"Funny, Thomas." Brenda.

"I'm not too surprised, slinthead." Minho.

"You had a brain?" Harriet.

Thomas shushed them. "I meant they wanted to take my brain. Chancellor Paige saved me. She wrote that they would be better off taking brain tissue from a convicted criminal, rather than their Final Candidate. Told me to gather all the immunes and come to this place."

There was pin-drop silence. Teresa reached for his hand and held it. Her eyes showed an odd mixture of shock and relief.

Minho broke the silence. "So what did they do? Pin you down to an operating table and try to cut your head open?"

Thomas shook his head. "No, they asked for my permission." He tried not to meet anybody's glares.

"And … you gave it?" Minho asked in disbelief.

"Yeah. I figured that if there were even a meek chance of them finding the cure, one last death isn't going to hurt much."

There was no way he was going to say it in public, especially with Minho present, but he did want to tell Teresa about his other reason, even if only to let her know that he never really had hated her. As the Gladers and Squarers drowned into conversations, Thomas turned to face Teresa.

 _There was another reason, too,_ he started. _They told me that you were their second-final candidate after me, and while I did … I did hate you then, irrationally, … I …_ He wasn't sure how to say it after all.

 _You did it so that they don't cut my brain open instead?_

 _Uh … yeah._

And then he saw Teresa's arm flying wildly through the air, followed by a sharp stinging sensation on his cheek and the sound of a slap.

 _Ouch! What was_ that _for?_ He looked up in shock.

 _Don't ever do that again._ Teresa whispered into his head, an air of warning around her words.

 _No promises_ , he grinned.


	3. Chapter 2

As they dispersed off to do their own things, Thomas grabbed Minho by the shoulder. He knew he had to tell him this. Maybe he would get a punch in the face, and it might ruin their friendship, but he couldn't keep Minho in the dark, leave him to wonder about what happened to their friend.

"Minho, I need to talk to you," he said.

Minho gave him a suspicious glare. "What, you killed someone?" he smirked. "Don't ask me for legal advice."

Thomas's eye shot up at that question. He let his gaze fall back to the ground. "Actually, yeah. I killed someone." He didn't know he could break it to his friend. Minho had known Newt since two years before Thomas entered the Glade. He couldn't imagine the pain he might be going through right now, thinking of his friend.

They sat down next to Teresa. Thomas tried not to meet their stares. After a long pause, he reached into his pocket. The note. It was still there. He had taken a shower and changed into fresh clothes previously, but he made sure to keep the note with him. Both their eyes were still fixated on him.

He clenched the note in his fist, and finally spoke. "Newt." he said dryly. "I killed him."

He closed his eyes. His voice quivered as he spoke. "Against my will, I swear it. He forced me to. Told me he'd rather die than go past the Gone.

Remember when we were escaping WICKED? When Newt went crazy and attacked you? When he told me he want to speak to me in private?" He looked up to see Minho staring blankly at him. "He gave me this note. Told me to not open it until the 'time is right'."

He handed the note to Minho, who unfolded the note, hesitating, his eyes full of dread as he slowly lowered his gaze towards the note. Teresa glanced at the note sideways, a low gasp escaping her lips.

"Remember when we went to meet him in the Crank Palace? When he lashed out angrily at me? He had thought I had already seen it. That I was ignoring the note." He sighed. He himself remembered the incident all too well. "I read it when we left the Crank Palace in the Berg."

"When'd you kill him?" Minho asked, his tone blank and devoid of emotion.

"On my way back to WICKED. I found him on a street in Denver. Tried to talk him out of it, but he forced me to. Begged me to." He felt tears moisten his eyes as he shuddered at the memory.

He finally looked up, bracing himself for the worst. He expected Minho to pounce on him any time, punch him in the face, beat the living klunk out of him. And he didn't plan to try and defend himself. He deserved it. He _had_ killed his friend.

But Minho just nodded, then looked at him square in the eye and frowned. "Why're you staring at me like you're expecting me to murder you?" When Thomas didn't respond, Minho continued. "I don't know if you noticed, Thomas, but I put Jack out of his misery. Out in the Scorch. If there's anyone who can understand, it's me."

Thomas looked over at Teresa, who had a blank expression on her face. _Go on,_ he said in her mind, _Tell me how I'm a heartless friend. It's true, isn't it? What kind of a shuckface would kill his own friend?_

She stared at him in obvious surprise. _What?_

He stared blankly at her. She continued.

 _Whatever you did, you did it to save your friend. Save him from misery. He would rather die a swift death, than lose his sanity, suffer as a Crank, kill people, and die a painful death. It must've taken a lot of courage on your part._

Thomas looked at her eyes. She had a bare smile on her face, and her eyes showed compassion. Understanding. _I still killed him._ He replied.

Teresa looked like she was about to roll her eyes, when she turned her gaze to over his shoulder, and turned her head upwards to an elevation of about 60 degrees. She let out a gasp, then glared at Thomas, a look of disgust on her face. "Seriously, Tom?"

Minho stuck his gaze at the same spot Teresa had a looked at, his jaw dropping wide open as if he had just seen a ghost.

"What? What the hell is wrong with you two?" Thomas asked, puzzled. He was just about to turn around, when a voice spoke from behind him. A voice he never thought he'd hear again.

"Hey, Tommy. Brave little shank, aren't ya?"


	4. Chapter 3

Thomas spun around at that. Behind him was the flat trans, surrounded by the force field. His jaw dropped when he saw the source of the voice.

Newt.

He was smirking, his arms folded, his head slightly bandaged, but the bloody wounds and gashes had disappeared from his body.

"I heard ya speaking from behind the Flat Trans. Brave little shank, aren't ya?"

Thomas opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. How was Newt alive? And how was he … cured? He rummaged for words. "How … how are … "

"First get me out of this wall, alright? I'm not Rat Man to need this bloody protection."

Thomas performed the touch gestures across the surface of the force field, just like Brenda had taught him earlier that day, dissolving the force field.

By now, a small crowd had begun to gather around them.

"WICKED found the cure?"

"Are you for real?"

"Is this another trial?"

"Who's that guy and why did you let him –"

"Slim it!" Thomas yelled. He turned his attention to Newt. "How are you alive? And … you look normal!" His voice was steadily rising in excitement as he spoke, despite his desperate effort to not let his hopes rise. For all he knew, this could be another trial from WICKED.

Newt reached into his pocket and pulled out a note and handed it to Thomas.

Thomas hesitated. He remembered the last two times that Newt had left them notes, and they weren't exactly the most pleasant ones.

Newt seemed to sense his thoughts, and rolled his eyes. "It's not a bloody suicide note, Tommy. Just open it."

Thomas grinned, and took the note from Newt. As he unfolded it, his eyes flashed to the name of the letter writer, which somehow gave him relief. He read the letter out loud.

* * *

Date 232.4.11, Time 06:15

TO: Thomas

RE: A new beginning

Dear Thomas,

I know what you must be thinking right now. I can only assure you, that this is not a trial. WICKED is finished. The blueprint is complete, but our efforts at finding a cure have failed.

I am sorry that we put you through such hardship - in the Maze, the Scorch, and even after. I am sorry that you suffered so much more than any child, any person should have to suffer, and I am sorry that you witnessed things that no child should ever have to witness. All I can say is that it was all done in the hope of obtaining a cure for the Flare. As we have failed at this, I can only ask for your forgiveness. I apologise to all of you, and to my son, Mr Newton, whom I've subjected to the trials.

What I must now ask of you and your friends, is perhaps the most challenging task we have ever given you. Begin the human race, anew. Lead a new civilisation. Repopulate the planet.

The Flare cannot be cured. Only the uninfected can be immunised. The Immunes are a group of people who have been infected with a special strand of the Flare that does not affect one's sanity.

All throughout history, leaders have made mistakes and civilisations have fallen, but greater ones have risen in their place. The human race has been known for pulling through in the worst of times, to survive, and to thrive.

The release of the Flare virus by our predecessors in government as a method of population control was an abhorrent and irreversible crime. The Flare mutated, and the quick death it offered turned into years of suffering and extensive damage to the prefrontal cortex. WICKED was formed with a single objective. To find a cure for the Flare.

I put my faith, and the fate of the world, in your hands, Thomas. Remember, Thomas, you're the real leader.

With Mr Newton, I have sent two syringes of highly concentrated Grief Serum, that will return your memories. I advise you to inject yourself with one of them. It will enter your bloodstream and eventually reach your brain, where it will dissolve the Swipe. You will go through significant pain in the Changing, but unlike the Changing that you encountered in the Glade, the Changing here will take no more than two minutes. As you may already know, you were deemed to be remarkably talented when we induced you into WICKED. You had been given rigorous training, and the knowledge you had acquired will be of use to you and your community of immunes.

I do not know how history will judge us, but I state here for the record, that WICKED has only ever had one purpose. To save the human race, at any cost.

And for this sole reason, WICKED was good.

Ava Paige.

* * *

There was pin-drop silence when he finished reading the letter. Thomas looked up and stared into the distance as the wind blew past his face.

Minho broke the silence. "Woah." He scratched his hair. "I don't even know where to start."

Neither could Thomas. The responsibility of the human race on his hands. Newt was alive. Should he really get his memories back? The thing about the release of the Flare. Newt getting cured. And …

Teresa asked it for him. "Did you know, Newt? That Ava Paige is your mother? Did you know?"

Newt shook his head. "No. Not until I went through the rapid Changing and got back my memories. Guess what was my real name?"

 _That settles it._ Thomas thought. _I should get back my memories._ Newt had gotten it in the same way, and he looked fine.

"Thomas Paige." Newt grinned.

Thomas huffed a laugh.

Newt continued. "My biological parents were both immunes, but they were killed by Cranks. Ava Paige adopted me." He paused. "A Crank being born to two immunes … it's a rare genetic glitch. WICKED said only such rare Cranks could be cured by just removing the coccoon of the Flare. The bullet did it for me."

After a happy reunion, Minho announced that they should get some sleep. Thomas looked at his digital watch and realised it had automatically updated to the new time zone. As he turned to follow the immunes, Teresa caught his arm. "Follow me." she whispered.

"What?"

"Just come. I need to show you something."

Thomas was puzzled, but there was no suspicion this time. She had nearly killed herself to save his life. There was no way he could possibly distrust her.

They trudged across the ground in silence, their feet and Teresa's crutches tapping the ground. The faint moonlight was the only source of illumination in the otherwise pitch-dark forest.

Thomas broke the silence. "I know you'll probably call me a slinthead for bringing this up now, but I'm just curious." He paused. "What did you and Aris talk about when you were in the coma?" He had been thinking about that for a while now, all though he tried not admit it, even to himself.

Teresa rolled her eyes. "We only talked once. When you ran off into the Maze at night. I would have exploded if I kept my fear to myself. Same with Aris. He was worried about Rachel."

Thomas suddenly felt terribly guilty for having distrusted Teresa after the "betrayal" at the Scorch. And he felt sorry for Aris, who had to kiss a girl he had no feelings for, to save someone he barely knew, especially after all he had been through. After Rachel's death.

 _I'm really sorry, Teresa._

 _It's ok, Tom. I think I wouldn't have trusted you either if our roles had been reversed._

 _Yeah, right. There's no need to lie now, Teresa._

They stopped somewhere right in the middle of the forest, and Teresa reached for something in her back pocket as he held her steady. Thomas still felt a fleeting moment of panic that she would take out a knife, and then immediately felt stupid for thinking so. _You're an idiot_ , he told himself.

"What?" she asked, looking puzzled, as she took out a stack of papers from her pocket.

He realised he accidentally spoke to her telepathically. "Oh, sorry. Wrong number. I was trying to talk to myself."

She rolled her eyes as she handed the papers to him. Some of them looked old, two were badly smudged out, some were a little crumpled. "What's this?" He asked her.

"Letters." She replied. "Before going into the Maze, I made our assistant promise me to give these back to me once we escape the Maze. I made it a point to get it back once I got my memories back."

 **See** **the fanfic "Letters to You [** ** **s/10676836]** " by whatitskaitlyn ****(exclude the last letter)**

When he read the fifth letter, he looked up at Teresa with eyebrows raised. Teresa simply shook her head and said, "It isn't what it sounds like, I promise." Thomas grinned and returned to reading the letters.

As he flipped the last page close, Thomas noticed his eyes had welled with unshed tears. He approached Teresa, who was standing with her distant gaze to the ground, a bare smile had broken across her face, as if cherishing older memories.

He lifted her chin up with his right hand as he stroked her hair with his left. "Why didn't you tell me about this before?"

Teresa looked jolted out of her thoughts. "We didn't really have much time." She quickly replied. Too quickly to be genuine.

Thomas folded his arms. He could see that she was hiding something. "Well, you could have given it to me when we were kidnapped by the Right Arm." he countered.

"You didn't trust me, then. You would have probably doubted the authenticity of the letters." Teresa retorted, again too quickly.

Thomas lifted her chin up again. "Teresa, tell me the truth or I'll stop trusting you again."

Teresa rolled her eyes. "That's a stupid threat, but fine." She sighed, then muttered something under her breath.

"Do you mind repeating that? In English?"

"I didn't want to damage your relationship with Brenda."

Thomas's reaction was priceless. He started choking and spluttering on nothing at all, his arms flying wildly through the air. "My … my rel– … what?" He groaned. "No, I do not consider Brenda to be any more than a friend to me."

Teresa raised an eyebrow, indicating that she wasn't convinced.

Thomas flipped open his last letter to Teresa. "I'll keep my promise, Teresa," he whispered. He was aware of how stupid he sounded, but Teresa smiled and rolled her eyes as he leaned down to kiss her on the forehead.

And that's when he heard a somewhat familiar, wet and gurgly voice.

"Rose took my nose, I suppose."

 **Author's note:**

 **In case you didn't figure it out, Thomas _did_ grow a crush on Brenda, but he doesn't realise it any longer, for reasons that will be revealed eventually.**


	5. Chapter 4

Thomas spun around with a high-pitched yelp, grabbing a loose branch from the tree next to him, swinging it back and forth, pointing towards the source of the sound as he squinted in the moonlight to have a closer look at their new visitors, now cackling in laughter. Teresa maintained her composure better, but her face had gone pale with horror.

That's when he spotted his three friends, all doubled over in laughter. Minho, Newt, Brenda.

"What the shucking _Scorch_!" he yelled as he lowered his pathetic weapon.

Brenda, still laughing, tried to form words. "You should've … " *laughter* "should've seen … " *laughter* "the look on your face" *laughter*.

Minho broke his laughter to speak. "You thought we wouldn't see you going off with your shuck girlfriend?" He resumed laughing.

Thomas turned his gaze to Newt. "You too, Newt?" The taller boy was controlling his laughter the best among the three.

"Sorry, Tommy. It wasn't my idea, I swear. I just needed to find you for–"

Teresa interrupted him. "And what did you have to find us for, so badly?"

"Not you, just him."

Thomas sighed. "Right, and what do you need me for?" He asked, his voice now softer.

"Bloody Swipe again, Tommy?" Newt replied. "The Grief Serum. The Chancellor said you should get your memories back."

Thomas took the syringe from him. "Oh yeah, that. Thanks."

Minho and Brenda had finally found some control over their laughter.

"Hey, I came here to deliver some important news too, OK?" Minho finally got out.

"Oh yeah? And what's that?" Thomas retorted.

"Apparently, we don't need to worry about any Cranks coming in the way Newt did. It's hard to break a Force Field."

Thomas waited.

He realised Minho had finished speaking.

"You know, Minho - I get the impression that you didn't _find_ us to tell us your absolutely important news, but you shucking _followed_ us here because you'd find my reaction to your Crank talk _funny_. Am I right?"

Unfortunately, Minho had once again collapsed into laughter, rendering him unable to answer.

Thomas didn't ask Brenda for an answer, but she answered anyway. "I'll be honest, Thomas. I just thought it would be funny to scare you when you're making out with your girlfriend."

Thomas suddenly felt bad for Brenda - he felt a ridiculous surge of guilt that he did not reciprocate the feelings she had for him. But all he said was "We weren't making out, for heaven's sake. She just had to give me something."

Minho, who had just recovered from his laughter, burst out laughing again. "Give you what? A kiss?"

Thankfully, Newt saved the day. "Slim it, all of you!" He his gaze to Thomas. "Anyway, I was about to tell you, when you decided to go for a trek in the forest with your girlfriend." He grinned. "Your buddy's coming tomorrow. Chuck."


	6. Chapter 5

Thomas felt a flurry of emotions. Astonishment. Curiousity. Relief. But most of all, joy.

"How … I mean … you mean … he's alive?"

Newt nodded. "Yeah. Apparently, back when you worked for WICKED, you two shanks insisted that all deaths should be simulated. Eventually, you guys came to a compromise with the big shots to simulate the easiest-to-simulate deaths."

And just at hearing that, a lost memory surfaced in Thomas's brain.

* * *

Thomas is fourteen. He enters a room, as if he does it everyday. He does. That's his office.

Teresa's there, as usual, and so is their secretary, whom Thomas calls _The Babysitter_ , but never remembers his name. He notices they have visitors. Aris and some girl that the dreaming Thomas doesn't recognise, but the younger Thomas does. _Rachel_ , he thinks.

Next to them are Brenda and some man he doesn't recognise, who was wearing a pair of sunglasses and an overtly formal suit that made him look terribly out-of-place in the WICKED headquarters, Thomas thought.

"What's your issue?" Thomas asks. "Be quick. We're very busy."

The man he doesn't recognise pressed his sunglasses towards his face and began talking. "Yes, Sir." He clears his throat. "As I understand it, you four Elites lead the design team for the Maze."

"Thanks for that bit of news." Thomas mutters. "Get on with it."

He loves being harsh to his older counterparts. Teresa and he are only fourteen, but are very high up in the ranks, inferior only to the Chancellor.

"I'm sorry, Sir." The man wearing sunglasses clears his throat again. "I'm part of the design team for the Miscellaneous Variables. I possess a degree in Psy–"

Thomas sighs. "Can you cut out the beating-around-the-bush crap? Unless you're asking me to give you a damn recommendation letter, I don't need to know about your degrees and qualifications, Mr Sunglasses."

"Sir, my name's Stevenson McDonald." The man's face goes red with embarassment. Or anger. Thomas can't tell. Another clear of his throat.

"I see. And my name's Thomas." Thomas answers. "Okay, Mr Throat-clearing guy, now may I ask you what you're here for?"

"Yes. Definitely, Sir. I'm Stev– … We were designing the sacrifice variable, and we have a list of potential candidates. Since … um … I mean, we just thought you should decide who will be most effective for the job."

Thomas knows why they're asking him to decide. It's because the sacrifice variable will involve him. WICKED hadn't been very good at concealing the fact that the Elites were also subjects. They're probably afraid that they would stop their work for WICKED if they find out they're going to be sent into the trials, but of course, Thomas is above such selfish crap. Thomas grabs the paper from Mr Sunglasses. He scans the paper and puts his finger down on his choice. "Him." he says, although his voice is trembling. There it is, a photograph of Chuck.

The dreaming Thomas wants to stop him. Tries to push him away, although he can't even explain to himself how that works. He wishes something could fall on his head and kill him immediately. But he can't, he knows that. It's the past. It's the truth.

"Chuck. Subject A33." he says, his voice much softer than before. He notices that his eyes are slightly teary, he rubs it away.

"Yes, I think he's the right candidate for this job." Teresa says, although the look on her face says that she understands. "He isn't a potential candidate, anyway. We'll ensure he survives through the Maze Trials. Perhaps exercise temporary control over his body temperature to prevent being detected by a Grief-device."

The dreaming Thomas runs away, as far as he can, as if trying to distance himself from the younger Thomas.

* * *

Night has fallen, but Thomas knows it's the same day. He's on a wooden chair, in the Elites' dormitory, which contains four rooms for the four Elites. Aris and Rachel, though, always spend time on the playground until late. Teresa is sitting next to him, and both of them look sullen.

"I can't believe I said that, Teresa." he says. "I can't believe I said that."

"It's okay, Tom." she replies. "You did the right thing. It's for the greater good."

"He's a little kid, Teresa. And I just gave him a death sentence." The young Thomas knows he's being irrational, but can't help it. He knows he isn't really going to change his stance, anyway, despite what he's saying.

Teresa sighs, then looks at him. "Think about the number of such kids who'll be saved by a cure for the Flare." She looks into the distance. "We … we were lucky. WICKED took us, because we're immune, and we're supposedly smart." She pauses. "Not everyone's so lucky, Tom. I myself would be orphaned if not for …" She shrugs it off like she doesn't want to think about it.

Thomas nods. "Yeah, you're right," he mutters. She is. Of course she is. He knows that already.

But then a thought occurs to him. "But it's not like curing the Flare is going to fix all the world's problems."

She stares at him blankly. "It sort of is."

"No it's not. The solar flares have destroyed the tropics. Our climate has gone crazy. So many species extinct. Many of them of medical value. We had so many natural resources … all gone. Some of the most advanced nations, the most clever people. Wiped out. So much economic destruction. And now with the Flare, and so much money, resources, human capital going into this, to help WICKED solve our biggest problem … " he trailed off.

Teresa thinks for a moment, then replies. "We'll pull through, Tom. We always have."

"You're so full of it." Thomas retorts.

Just then, Aris and Rachel enter the room. "You two are bickering again, aren't you?" Aris asks.

"Yes. No. Maybe. None of your business. Go take a shower, you two. Keep wasting your time on the playground." Teresa mutters the last sentence under her breath.

"Why don't you two ever stop being so argumentative?" Aris asks, trying to act innocent.

"Arguing is a sign of high intelligence. Now leave."

"My sincere apologies, Madam." Aris mocks, but doesn't budge.

"Oh, just shut up for once, Aris. We're discussing something more important than your stupid game of … Cash. Or whatever." Thomas snaps.

The two of the leave the room, Rachel muttering something like "It's Squash.". Teresa turns her gaze towards Thomas. "Glad we got that out of the way." She mutters. "Okay, now where were we?"

"I told you you're so full of it, and then these two idiots come barging into the room like a bunch of Cranks."

"Right" She pauses. "No, I'm not trying to comfort you. What I'm saying is that the human race has always pulled through the worst of disasters. We'll survive, trust me."

"Entire races have been wiped out, Teresa. South Asia's gone. Israel's gone. Much of East Asia's gone. Sub-Saharan Africa. North Africa. The Middle-East. Most of South America. All gone. It's a big genetic bottleneck."

Teresa snickers, startling Thomas. "What?" Thomas asks.

"You call _this_ a genetic bottleneck? Don't you remember the massive Toba catastrophe? It was the first thing WICKED told me about when I came here, to motivate me. If we could get through that, we can get through this."

Thomas considers it for a moment, then nods. "Yeah, whatever. Anyway, my point is that whatever be the case, we can't waste lives. WICKED chose the cleverest of children from the surviving nations. They have a lot of potential. We can't waste lives."

Teresa looks at him blankly. "What are you trying to say, then?"

"Can't we simulate the deaths? Manipulate their nerve reptacles? You heard them yesterday, right? When we were spying? They can do that."

Teresa nods. "I've thought of that before. We'll talk to them tomorrow." She pauses. "It's not like they'll really listen to us, …" She trails off.

"Despite all the 'Madam's and 'Sir's they call us." Thomas adds. "But if nothing works, we can always talk to the Chancellor. He's a nice guy."

"Okay, then. Good night."

"Good night."

* * *

"I'm afraid that isn't possible, Sir."

"And why not, Mr Donaldson?" Thomas asks.

"Actually, I'm Stevenson."

"Fine, Mr Stevenson. Now answer my question."

"I believe I have already told you the answer, Sir."

"No, you have not. All you said is that it isn't part of the plan."

"Yes, Sir. That is the explana–."

"That's not a valid explanation, Mr Stevenson." Teresa interrupts him, with an icy glare that causes Stevenson shift in his seat and twitch uncomfortably.

"I'm afraid it is, Madam." Mr Stevenson replies.

"No, it's not. The plan isn't even finalised yet. We still have eleven months before the Maze goes functional. If there's anything obstructing a change to the plan, it's your laziness and-slash-or arrogance." Thomas retorts, angrily.

"I'm afraid we need to follow the established proto–"

Thomas bangs his hands on the table, doing his best to act furious. " _Mr Stevenson_! The fundamental goal of WICKED is to save lives. To maximise utility. All your protocols are established to support this goal. Not to hinder it." Then he asks Teresa in her head. _Am I acting too dramatic?_ Teresa hides an involuntary smile, then replies. _No, it's fine._

Sunglasses is visibly taken aback. "Okay, okay. We will attempt to modify the protocols, but you will have to pay a small operational fee in order to furnish it."

Thomas exchanges a glance with Teresa, with the slightest hint of a smile splashed across his face.

"What exactly is this operational fee?" he turned his gaze back to Mr Stevenson.

"About a hundred dollars."

"I didn't ask you how much it is. I asked you what _is_ it. What does it do?"

"Sir, it furnishes the procedures to–"

"I asked for a detailed breakdown, Mr Stevenson."

Sunglasses stutters for words. "Um … "

"You did not just demand a bribe from me, Mr Sunglasses." Thomas replies in a much calmer voice.

"I … I … Look, like you said, you want to maximise utility, right? What's a hundred dollars against saving the world?"

Thomas gets to his feet, along with Teresa. "You're coming with us. To meet Chancellor Anderson. Now." She says.

"What?"

They grab Sunglasses's arms and drag him out of his chair. "Please! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please!" he screams, repeating the same words over and over. "Why don't you just let me walk?"

As they drag him through the hallway, WICKED employees rise from their seats, eyes wide in disbelief, as they watch the sight of Mr Sunglasses shouting with lunacy as he's dragged by the arms by two children.

 _You sure you've recorded everything, right?_ Thomas asks Teresa in her skull.

 _Of course._

They reach the Chancellor's suite, the guards too taken aback to say anything. Teresa flings the door open, as they barge in, Mr Sunglasses still flinging his legs around wildly.

A bearded man, Chancellor Anderson rises from his chair, and Thomas thinks even the Swipe wouldn't let him forget the look on his face - a rare mix of awe, shock, horror, and satisfaction.

Thomas turns around to talk to Mr Sunglasses, still screaming "Get the hell off me!" and "What the freaking hell is wrong with you?". "Can you shut up for once?" Thomas yells at him, then slaps his hand on Mr Sunglasses's mouth.

"Real sorry, Mr Anderson," Teresa sighed. "It was an emergency."

The Chancellor still stood there speechless, eyes darting between the three of them.

Thomas spoke. "Mr Stevendaughter here … he's corrupt."

"I did _not_! You don't have any proof!" the man yelled. "And my name's Stevenson! Stevenson McDonald."

"You bet we do," Thomas scoffed.

Teresa took out her spy pen and handed it to the Chancellor. "The evidence, Mr Anderson."

* * *

The Chancellor sighs, then turns to face Thomas and Teresa. "Always wanted to kick his butt out of WICKED." he mutters. "I've heard a lot of complaints against him. You're the first with solid evidence."

"We should stop talking about him, now that we've fired him." Thomas replies. "Now, coming to the more important issue–"

"I know." The Chancellor cuts him off. "I heard. In your recording. And I must say I agree with you two."

Thomas's eyes brighten.

The Chancellor looks into the distance, pausing for half a minute. "We'll simulate as many deaths as possible." He finally says. "But we can't simulate everything. It is impossible to simulate fatal events in the Scorch, and Griever-inflicted deaths cannot be simulated."

"But we need to protect the immunes!" Teresa starts. "They're the bes–"

Thomas cuts her off. "He's right, Teresa." Trying to ignore the look of disgust on her face, he continues. "We can't afford wasting too many resources on this, either. If the world has to pull off the solar flares and other stuff, it's not just the human resources that matter. It's going to be expensive."

Teresa looks unswayed, but Thomas knows her well enough to know she agrees with them. She glances at him, then turns her gaze towards the Chancellor.

"So what deaths _could_ be simulated in this compromise plan?" She asks.

"I believe the sacrifice variable and … the sacrifice variable could. And perhaps any deaths in Phase-III." The bearded man sighs. "Please keep this confidential. Subject B1 and B2, in particular, cannot know about this."

* * *

"Tom!" "Thomas!" "What's bloody wrong with you, Tommy?"

Thomas woke up to see Teresa's worried face looking down at him, his three other friends gathered around him, too. He realised he was lying on the ground. Slowly, he felt his own hands and pushed himself up to sit straight.

Newt talked in a worried voice. "You just bloody fainted, and then started spouting some rubbish."

"Reminded me of what Teresa did when she was in the coma back in the Glade." Minho added.

"Oh, sorry." Thomas shook himself back to reality. "I just saw this memory dream. I think it was triggered by what you said." He wearily pointed at Newt. "About us asking for the deaths to be simulated."

Newt looked at his digital watch. "We should probably get going, now."

They trudged back towards the housing facility, which appeared to be connected to the hospital by a sort of tunnel.

"Where do you think we are?" Teresa asked, breaking the silence.

Thomas looked his watch. "Well, we're only about an hour ahead of WICKED's headquarters." He pictured a world map in his head. "And we're obviously somewhere far in the southern hemisphere judging by how early it turned dark." He paused. "So I'm guessing we're either in the Antarctic Peninsula or the Brunswick Peninsula."

"We really need to explore this place." Teresa muttered.

"Yeah, and analyse the movements of the mountains, I guess." Minho smirked. "Maybe we'll even have some cute little Grievers to fight."

Thomas almost shuddered at the mention of Grievers. "Can we forget about the Maze for once?" But for some reason, an odd thought occurred to him. _Are Grievers edible?_ He pushed the ridiculous thought away, and his thoughts once again turned to Chuck.

"If Chuck's alive, isn't Rachel, too?" Thomas asked. "Shouldn't we tell Aris?"

"Wait till tomorrow." Newt replied. "We could give him a surprise."

"Well, if you're sure he isn't going to kill himself tonight, then alright." Thomas smirked.

"Did this shuckface just try to make a joke?" Minho remarked.

"It wasn't that bad!" Thomas retaliated.

Minho scoffed. "Your idea of a good comeback was: I quote, _I do love ponies_. Unquote."

"You missed the second part," Newt pointed out. " _Wish I could eat one right now._ " He snickered.

As they trudged through the forest, Newt explained his Phase-III trial. Gruesome deaths of his friends were simulated to him everyday. His memory of the simulation would be wiped at night, and a different simulation for the same set of friends would be shown to him the next day. At the end of the trial, all the memories of the simulation were returned, driving him absolutely insane.

Thomas couldn't help but think that there was something was off about this trial. Whatever WICKED might be, their goal was not to torture people. It was to collect killzone patterns to obtain a cure for the Flare. What killzone patterns could be obtained from this?

"What do you think Frypan and Clint had for their Phase-III trials, anyway?" Minho asked.

Thomas had been thinking about that. From the memory dream he had just had, it seemed that there would have to have been deaths, or simulated deaths, in the Phase-III trials. Yet, nobody informed them about having misled into believing they were killed, in the trials. It could only mean one thing.

"I think they were killed." Thomas blurted before realising how stupid that sounded.

"What?" all four of them asked at once. "They still look buggin' alive to me." Newt continued.

"That's not what I meant, you shank." Thomas rolled his eyes in an attempt to defend himself. "From the memory dream I just had, the Phase-III trials also had simulated deaths, is why they got their memory of the trials wiped after the trials."

Newt looked troubled. "So wouldn't that mean they would be dead, too? If you hadn't gotten those shanks to agree on simulated deaths?"

Thomas nodded. "I guess." he muttered. His thoughts had once again drifted to Chuck's return the next day.

* * *

Thomas shared a bunk with Teresa, who slept on the bottom bed due to her injury. Minho had very pointedly told him that helping Teresa around till she recovered was Thomas's responsibility, since she had gotten into this situation while saving his life. Of course, Thomas didn't need to be told this, but nevertheless was surprised that anything but an insult had come out of Minho's mouth for Teresa. Teresa, on the other hand, claimed she could manage herself and that it wasn't the first time she had to walk on crutches.

Minho and Newt shared the bunk next to them, but they were still arguing for the top bed. The homestead was large and had room for about 500 people, although only 200 were actually present.

"Hey, Thomas?" Minho called from beside him. "What did you see in that memory, anyway?"

Thomas knew he was referring to the memory he saw when he fainted in the forest. He did want to share it. "Well, it started with this weird guy who wore sunglasses and cleared his throat a lot. His name was … Steve Jobs, I think."

"Stevenson." Teresa called from below him. "Stevenson McDonald. You were always terrible at remembering names."

"Yeah, whatever." Thomas continued. "So he and … Brenda had visited our office to choose a candidate for the sacrifice variable." He was wondering about that part. He knew Brenda had been a member of WICKED, but for some reason, he had never before thought that she was there before he entered the Maze.

He went on, telling Minho about how he chose Chuck for the variable, how he had felt guilty at night, even Aris and Rachel being annoying, the discussion with Mr Sunglasses, dragging him through the corridors, getting him fired, and finally the compromise.

"Whoa," Minho concluded. "I want to do that. Drag Rat Man through his little territory."

"Good that." Thomas replied. "Sorry I strangled him to death. Wasn't much time to make him suffer a lot." _Maybe Teresa would be able to walk now if I didn't continue strangling his corpse,_ he thought.

"Should've brought him here. We could've chained him to the shed and used him as a punching bag." Newt muttered from below.

"Who wants to venture back in to drag his butt here?" Teresa asked. Thomas couldn't tell if she was being serious.

"Isn't there." Newt replied.

"Guess Baggers dragged him off, then." Thomas smirked.

"My disciple has acquired the gift of humour!" Minho yelled dramatically.

"Yes, master," Thomas rolled his eyes, although he knew they couldn't see him. "Okay, now slim it, all of you. I'm getting my memories back. If I fall off the bed or try to strangle myself, save me."

Without waiting for a response, he stabbed the syringe into a vein in his palm.

And once again, he began the Changing.


	7. Chapter 6

Thomas did not feel a need to process or think too deeply about the returning memories. They did not seem like new revelations, something that would elicit a response from him. He thought about the memories, anyway, but had to force himself to.

The first thought when he woke up was: " _WICKED Was Good._ "

The second thought was: " _Wish I punched Rat Man harder._ "

The third one was: " _The new Thomas, no the old, no, the middle Thomas, the Thomas with memories swiped, was a shucking idiot._ "

"What're you spouting, Tommy?" Newt asked from below, jolting him out of his thoughts. "Each sentence you say seems to completely contradict the previous one."

Thomas shook his head. "No. Rat Man was one of the slintheads who pushed the idea of repeating the trials till the Immunes go extinct. Most of WICKED _was_ good."

"Alright, then. I'm cool as long as Rat Man was the bad guy." Minho smirked.

 _Ah, shallow Minho._ Thomas thought. The thought surprised him. He had never thought of Minho as shallow before. Actually, he now thought of the middle Thomas himself as incredibly shallow.

In fact, the middle Thomas was very different from the Thomas with memories intact, the real Thomas. He knew that just a few minutes ago, he would have felt disgusted at the kind of person he had been before the Maze. But now, he felt good. He felt good to know he had a great sense of morality, of utilitarianism, and had rarely faltered on it when his memories were intact.

The middle Thomas would have wished for a normal childhood and adoloscence. But now impossibly, the real Thomas didn't mind. The rudimentary emotions were the same between the middle Thomas and the real Thomas, but the middle Thomas was ruled be emotions and self-interest, which was primarily concerned around his friends, while the real Thomas was ruled by logical thinking and utility of the world.

And most of all, the real Thomas didn't hate the middle Thomas. He sympathised with him. The middle Thomas, on the other hand, had almost always disliked the real Thomas.

"How long was I out?" he asked.

"Less than a minute." Newt replied. "You didn't make noise. You didn't when you went through the Changing back in the Glade, either."

Thomas was only partially listening to Newt's words. He was overwhelmed with the sheer number of memories that had just flooded his mind. He sat there, silent for a few minutes.

Newt broke the silence. "You won't remember everything just yet, Tommy. Apparently, parts of the Swipe get stronger when trying to suppress the buggin' memories that you focus most of your willpower on getting," He paused. "So it will take a while for you to remember the parts you really bloody want to."

"That was Swipe 2.0." Thomas replied. "Teresa and I had the Swipe entered in us quite early on to do the telepathy thing. Of course, the actual memory wipe was activated before I entered the Box."

"Lucky you, shank." Newt muttered. "It's bloody weird for me. I know I used to like some girl–"

"OOH!" Minho jumped out of his bed and onto the ground with a loud crash. "You never told us, huh, shank? Who's the lady?"

"Can't you bloody let me complete?" Newt sighed. "As I was bloody saying before I was so rudely interrupted," He glared at Minho. "I know I had a girlfriend, but I don't bloody know who she was, what her name was, or how she looked."

Minho, who had already taken the stance of a marriage priest, froze, then turned to look at Newt. "What?" He sighed. "Damn. That's bad."

"Yeah it is, it's buggin' annoy–"

"What's going on?" A groggy and tired voice came from Teresa below him. "I saw something crash to the floor. At first, I thought it was Thomas, then I heard Minho's dramatic voice."

Now with his humour returned, along with his memory, he wasn't going to miss the opportunity to payback on Minho and his jokes. "Minho was shocked out of his senses when he heard Newt say he used to have a girlfriend. I think I saw a tear trickle from hi–"

"Ouch!" Thomas was rudely interrupted by a punch in his face. He continued, nevertheless. "As I was saying, I saw a tear trickle down down his cheek."

Thomas found himself on the receiving end of two glares. "Not so funny, Thomas." Minho muttered as he turned his gaze away and reached for the ladder.

"Yeah, the joke dies when the guy telling the joke gets punched in th–" Thomas's retort was interrupted by Teresa.

"Can't you shuckfaces go to sleep?" She complained.

"JETLAG!" Minho and Newt yelled together. "Um, Flat-Trans-lag." Newt corrected.

"It so happens to be that we're an hour _ahead_ of WICKED." Thomas replied. "We do need sleep."

Minho often tried to break the silence, but eventually dozed off as well when nobody replied.

As he was drawn into the comfort of sleep, Thomas thought of Chuck's return, but mostly about organising the immunes into a functional and sustainable civilisation.


	8. Chapter 7

"Kill me, Tommy!" Newt's lunatic scream reverberated through the air.

 _Oh no._ Thomas thought. _This couldn't be happening again._ He looked at Newt. He looked clean and healthy, not like the last time. But his red, crazed eyes were filled with lunacy.

"Newt, please. We're safe now." Thomas replied, surprised at how calm his words were. "There's no reason to–"

"I can't live here! After all the death … I don't have the Flare now, but I'm still going crazy." Newt rushed the words through, without attention to punctuation or spacing. "I'm dangerous! To myself, and to other people."

Thomas was at a loss for words. Everything was finally coming to normal, or at least peace and safety, and Newt wanted to die, again? He had to talk Newt ou–

He was jolted out of his thoughts by Newt ramming a fist into his face. "I'm going crazy! I know!" the taller boy yelled as he spun around in a circle. He jolted out of the spinning and grabbed Thomas by the shoulders, pinning him to a wall. Pulling his head towards his own, he spoke in a fearsomely calm, yet bloodthirsty voice. "I want to kill you, Tommy. Just to vent my anger."

Thomas stood there, silent. Hurt, fear, and sadness warred for dominance within him. After a momentary pause, Newt was talking again. "SO KILL ME! Kill me before I become dangerous!"

And then his eyes cleared, as if grasping for the slightest straw of sanity within him. "Please, Tommy. Please."

* * *

Thomas woke up with a start, gasping for air. He looked around him. They were safe now. He heard Minho's snores and Newt rolling about in bed, below Minho's. He felt Teresa's presence in his skull. They were safe now. He wondered if how long these nightmares would stay. Impossibly, he didn't want them to go. He enjoyed them like people enjoy a horror movie. He enjoyed the relief he felt when they ended.

He looked at his watch and called to his friends to wake up. "It's still dark." Minho grumbled.

"We're in probably in the Antarctic circle, slinthead. It's passed eight."

He helped Teresa get on her crutches, always feeling a pang of guilt when he saw her unable to walk without support.

"Okay, come on. We need to go get Chuckie."

Thomas found himself at the lead of the group as they briskly walked towards the Flat Trans. The Force Field was still empty. Thomas felt the temptation to dissolve the Force Field and enter the Flat Trans to go and search for Chuck.

"What was your name?" Teresa asked him. "You always refused to talk about your life before WICKED."

Thomas sighed. He really still didn't want to remind himself of his life before WICKED, of his mother and what she would be now, about his father and his journey to the Gone.

"Tom?" She waved her hand in front of his eyes, diverting his attention away from his thoughts.

"Noam." He muttered. "What was yours? You never told me, either."

"Deedee." Teresa replied.

Before Thomas could process that, Minho jumped in between them. "Hold on, hold on, hold on! So you're telling me, that you stayed together for eleven years–"

"Seven, actually. They kept us in isolation for four shuck years." Thomas corrected.

Minho gave him an annoyed look. "So as I was saying, you stayed together for seven years, and never told each other your freaking na–"

"Chuck!" Thomas's attention was diverted by a short, chubby figure emerging through the Flat Trans. "Wait!" He yelled, but it was too late.

Thomas cringed as Chuck crashed his face into the force field. Chuck felt around the Force Field, reminding Thomas of the time he had crashed into Rat Man's protective wall.

"Now slim it nice and calm, Chuck. Give me a moment." Thomas did the same series of gestures, entering the lengthy password to dissolve the Force Field. Just as he did so, another figure, a short, brown-haired girl emerged and crashed into the Force Field, making Thomas simply sigh. "Now come on out, you two."

Chuck had a wide grin on his face as he came out of the unprotected zone. He folded his arms and looked up at Thomas. "So … what did I miss?"


	9. Chapter 8

Aris walked along the clearing, listening to the conversations of the immunes. Paradise, they called it. He couldn't call it that. Ever since Rachel's death, he knew that nothing could ever be a paradise to him. The feeling had always seemed ridiculous to him, until the moment he got back his memories. He had known Rachel since hardly a week!

But with his memories now returned, he understood. He wasn't a normal teenager, because like the other Squarers, he had never had a normal childhood. Rachel, Thomas and Teresa were the only friends he was allowed to have, and Thomas and Teresa didn't seem to give a shoot klunk about him. He had spent almost all his time with Rachel, working with her, playing with her, training with her, spending all their time together.

But now, she was gone. Recently, he had begun to feel as if her presence in his brain had returned, but he realised it was a hallucination. He felt horrible for thinking that way, but he wished that WICKED had conducted the sacrifice variable for Group B, too.

He saw Thomas talking to a little kid with brown hair and rosy red cheeks, just like Rachel. He still felt annoyed at Thomas for having made a big fuss at him for having assisted in the betrayal, but Thomas and Teresa were the only two people to have ever shown any empathy for him, for having lost Rachel. Did Thomas know how much it had shattered him to kiss Teresa, all the while remembering Rachel? Did he know how much pain he took, just to prevent Thomas from getting killed?

His stream of thoughts were interrupted with Thomas calling out to him. "Hey, Aris!" Thomas seemed to be in a great mood that day. Did he know that kid from before? "Hey." he replied. "Who's that kid?"

"Meet Chuck." he announced. "He saved my life before."

"Chuck?" Aris had heard the name before. He was the kid who had saved Thomas in the sacrifice variable, wasn't he? "The guy who sacrificed himself for you?" His eyes lit up with hope. "Could that mean … Rachel … " His words had begun stammering with excitement by the last word.

Thomas's eyes sunk with what appeared to be pity, and he refused to meet eye contact with Aris. When he didn't answer, Aris felt his hopes crash on him. It was foolish to ask in the first place. He would have been told earlier if she had made it safely. But he continued to push on. "Rachel?" The strength of his voice dwindled as he posed the question.

Aris's hopes collapsed within him as Thomas slowly shook his head, his hazel eyes finally meeting Aris's gaze. He should have known better than to let his hopes rise, after everything he had seen. "I'm really sorry, Aris. I didn't want to tell you." Thomas begun talking. "She came out of the Flat Trans, and ran of looking for you. But … "

"But what?" Aris demanded. Being so close to finally getting her back, only to … what could have happened? Thomas looked around, genuine sympathy filled his eyes, and then he continued. "She fell off the cliff."

Aris felt his sanity swept away. "How could you be such a shooting idiot, Rachel?!" He yelled as he collapsed onto the ground. And then he heard from behind him, a voice he had thought he would never hear again.

"Well, WICKED ranked me above you, so stop backbiting me, you shooting idiot."

 _Her_ voice. It was Rachel. He spun around to see Rachel, clearly alive, standing, arms folded, with a wide cheerful smile across her face.

"Rachel!" he yelled as he rose to his feet and ran towards her, embracing her in his arms as her enchanting laughs filled the atmosphere.

* * *

Thomas smirked as he saw the couple hugging in a tight embrace. _Best I could do to repay him for helping Teresa save me in the Scorch_ , he thought. He noticed he had absently slipped his hand over Chuck's eyes. "Let's go, Chuckie," he said. "Need to find you a place to sleep in the homestead." He laughed at out how he used Glader terms in reference to stuff in Paradise. For some reason, the word _Paradise_ irked him. What would they call the residents of Paradise? Parasites?

It turned out that one of the rooms next to theirs housed a single person, Aris. Chuck was to sleep there, and he could knock on the wall if he ever needed help.

The two of them and Teresa walked through the clearing, talking about everything and anything, but it was mainly Thomas telling Chuck about the Scorch Trials and beyond.

They were interrupted, by of course, Minho.

"Thomas!" He yelled. "Quit your leisure time with Chuckie! We have lots to talk about."

Thomas was startled. _What now?_ He thought. They were safe now, weren't they? "What happened?" he asked.

"Nothing, slinthead." Minho replied. "That's the problem. Nothing's happening. There's no structure, no plan. Everyone just playing around like little kids, some moaning and groaning about the people they lost."

Thomas nodded. He had been thinking about that. Getting their little community organised, making it functional and sustainable, didn't seem like an easy job. "Get the Mighty Gladers. We'll have a Gathering."

* * *

 _The Mighty Gladers_ , of course, only referred to Minho, Newt, Teresa, and himself.

"You sure you want to squeeze through that?" Minho asked as Thomas approached the small gap between the edge of the Flat Trans and the wall of the wooden shed. "If your privates touch the Flat Trans, I believe they will separate from your body and end up lying on Rat Man's corpse."

Thomas rolled his eyes. "The Force Field."

The four of them squeezed into the previously unknown part of the wooden shed. "Looks like the shed back in the Glade." Thomas muttered. It was a nice and quiet place, a good place to have Gatherings, he thought.

His thoughts were abruptly cut short by a high-pitched shriek from behind him. Startled, he spun around to see Newt and Minho looking at each other with shocked expressions.

Teresa was missing.


	10. Chapter 9

"Where's Teresa?" Thomas yelled as he approached the two boys whose confused expressions mirrored each other's.

"I … I think I saw her fall … through the _floor_." Newt groaned as he said it.

"What do you mean by fall through the floor?" Thomas asked, waving his hands in the air, as he walked through the two taller boys. "What–"

His words were cut short as he felt the ground … _open_ under him? The next thing he knew was the free rush of falling. Before he knew it, he crashed onto the floor rather unceremoniously. He looked around him. He was in a large wooden room, lit by incandescent light bulbs on the roof.

He saw Teresa next to him, rubbing her knee as she groaned in pain. "Shuck crutches stabbed me in the knee." She muttered.

He was about to get onto his feet, when he heard a scream from above, as Newt crashed into him, no more ceremoniously than he had.

"Bloody hell!" He began screaming. "Pretty sure we just got swallowed into bloody hell!"

"Good that." Thomas sighed. "Now can you get off me before Minho comes crashing onto us? That shank's real heavy."

The two of them scooted away, towards Teresa, who was trying to get on her feet. Thomas pulled her down, reminding her she needed her crutches.

As predicted, Minho entered the room, falling through the air, but somehow managed to land on his palms, resulting in the floorboard beneath him cracking. "Bloody glad we got away." Newt muttered.

"I think we just fell to hell, I yell!" Minho yelled, still standing on his hands. Thomas exchanged a quick glance with Newt, who had an _I think he's just gone nuts_ expression on his face. "I think we just fell to hell, I yell!" He repeated, and soon it started to sound like a religious chant.

Thomas finally got to his feet and pushed Minho's dangling feet away, sending him crashing to the floor with a thud. "First the Crank who lost his nose," He muttered. "Now Minho. Real nice."

"Sorry about that." Minho mumbled as he got to his feet. Newt gave him a knock on the head for good measure as Thomas helped Teresa to her feet and crutches. "Probably fell through a trapdoor," He muttered as he glanced at the spot from which they fell, which looked well-concealed within the roof.

"If it's a trapdoor … " Teresa started, the first thing she had said since a while, "How do we go back up?"

Thomas hadn't thought of that. What a great way to end their lives, he thought. They had escaped the Maze, battled Grievers and Cranks, survived the Scorch and escaped an imploding headquarters, and now they would starve to death in a large … auditorium?

"Oh man, we're really shucked, now." Minho whispered.

Thomas refused to believe that. "There must be a way out of here," He said firmly. "The people who built this place must have gotten out, right?" He reasoned. "If nothing, we'll stay here and eat wood to survive." He smirked.

"Am I the only one who finds it bloody suspicious that the lights are switched on?" Newt whispered.

Teresa shook her head. "I switched them on by accident," she said, pointing to a switch on the ground. "But … " She paused. "But where does the electricity come from?"

Thomas looked around. "It's pretty stupid of us to stay here and wait. For all we know, the batteries might go out, and then we'll be groping in the dark." He heaved a sigh. "Let's go."

The hall was empty apart from a ladder. They felt around the floor and walls, looking for more trapdoors, but found nothing.

* * *

After about two hours of searching with no success, Thomas was about to give up and shout for help, when he noticed something peculiar with the walls.

"Hey! I found something weird!" He shouted to the other Gladers to get their attention. They immediately quit what they were doing to join him. "The wall." He said. "This part's hollow. We could break it." He looked around, half-expecting someone to hand him a sledgehammer.

He called out to Teresa. "Give me one of your crutches."

"And how am I supposed to stand?" She asked.

"Don't. Sit down. Now give it to me so we can make use of our only chance to escape."

Teresa reluctantly handed him one of her crutches as she sat down on the wooden floor.

Thomas grabbed the stick and rammed its rubber end into the hollow part of the wall. The wooden boards cracked, and finally gave away by the third shove. He peeled off the broken edges and had a good look at the square hole that had opened.

It was a tunnel, perhaps twenty metres long, and even in the faint light, Thomas could see an exit on the other side.

"You think we should go?" Newt called to him from behind.

"Yeah." Thomas replied. "How else are we going to get out?"

Minho, of course, wouldn't miss an opportunity to make his smart-aleck remarks. "Ya think, Newt? No wonder–" He was cut off by Newt slapping his mouth shut with his hand.

The Gladers stepped into the tunnel and walked through it with stealth, as if making noise would lead to the tunnel getting closed off.

Thomas was the first to reach the end of the tunnel. Minho, Newt and Teresa followed him out of the tunnel. He fumbled around the walls and hit the light switches. He looked at what surrounded him. The room was relatively small and dimly lit. There was a bulky computer in the middle of the room, and a light green slab of a signboard behind it.

Thomas approached the signboard. At the centre of the signboard were nine words, printed in a deep blue.

 **Government of India: Vaidehi Antarctic Research Station (Estd. 188.10.22)**


	11. Chapter 10

"So that's where we are." Thomas muttered. "Guys, come look at this." He called to his friends.

"We're in an old Indian research station in Antarctica. _Vaidehi_." He explained, surprised at how easily he pronounced the Sanskrit word. "Looks like it was established thirty years before the sun flares."

He turned around to face them. "So now that we know the real name of this place, no more calling it _Paradise_ , okay?"

"So what do we call our bloody selves?" Newt asked. "We can't call ourselves Gladers anymore."

Thomas's mind had already thought of that. "Vaidehites." He replied. "Sounds cooler."

"Vaidehites?" Minho intervened, "You mean … Why-the-heights?", leading the three of them to simultaneously groan.

"Teresa, switch on the computer." Thomas directed. "Minho, go search this room for exits and other klunk. Newt and I will look at this sign board.

Minho grumbled something in a low voice, with something like "real leader too seriously" somewhere in the middle.

"Bloody klunk," Newt muttered, pulling Thomas's attention away from Minho.

"Bloody klunk? That's a nice image," Thomas snickered.

Newt pointed to a map of the Antarctic peninsula on the sign board. "This says we should be surrounded by land on all sides. But I'm pretty sure we're right next to the sea."

Thomas rolled his eyes. "The solar flares, genius." He groaned. "The glaciers have–"

"I've logged in." Teresa spoke from behind them. "Look, there are some folders … " She trailed off.

Minho stopped what he was doing to join them. "You switched on a computer and found some folders! What a genius! Such a pity you were named after a freaking saint."

Teresa ignored him. "There's some correspondence here, and a database of some weather measurements."

"Not much." Newt commented.

"They probably have other rooms somewhere, real labs." Teresa replied. "Anyway, so the correspondence first or the database?"

"Correspondence." Newt replied.

"Yeah," Thomas agreed. "We have all day to look at the database."

Teresa nodded and opened the correspondence.

* * *

IAP Memorandum, Date 188.10.22, Time 13:22

TO: My Associates

FROM: Rajesh Iyengar

RE: The Establishment of VARS

It is my great pleasure to inaugurate the Vaidehi Antarctic Research Station, which marks the thirtieth Indian research station in the Antarctic. Over two centuries have passed since the establishment of Dakshin Gangotri, the first research station established by the Indian Antarctic Program (IAP). This station has been constructed as part of the International Solar Flare Prediction Program (ISFPP), that has been established through a collaboration between the Government of India and various tropical nations in response to the recent surge in solar surface activity. Vaidehi being distant from major local influences on atmospheric temperature, has been established as one of the five ideal locations for this study. We will strive to ensure that VARS will perform its functions as outlined by the ISFPP Memorandum 184.1.26.

* * *

Date 217.1.12

TO: Harihara Kumar

FROM: Rajeshwari Gowda

RE: Suicide note

After the solar flares, a disease leaks from some ambiguous defense facility that infects people's prefrontal cortex and makes them go crazy? How ridiculous is this? There's something fishy about this, Harihara. I think the leak was intentional. I don't care. I can't bear to see this happening. Goodbye, Harihara. It was a pleasure working with you. You will no longer hear from me. Goodbye.

* * *

ANNUAL REPORTS (189-217) - NO SUSPICIOUS ACTIVITY FOUND

ANNUAL REPORTS (218) - TRANSMISSION FAILED. ERROR 002. NETWORK CONNECTION LOST.

RETRY TRANSMISSION - FAILURE

RETRY TRANSMISSION - FAILURE

RETRY TRANSMISSION - FAILURE

RETRY TRANSMISSION - FAILURE

FATAL ERROR OCCURRED - MAXIMUM RETRY ATTEMPTS COMPLETED


	12. Chapter 11

"Nothing useful here," Thomas commented. "Open the database."

"What are we going to do with the shuck database?" Newt retorted. "According to the Memorandum, all they have are bloody weather readings."

"Exactly," Thomas countered. "We're somewhere in Antarctica, and the temperatures are dropping. We need to find out how much time we have before we need to move North."

"We … wait, what?" Minho looked aghast. "Move North? To meet our Crank buddies?"

"Better than freezing to death." Thomas replied. "Besides, we'll have time. A couple of centuries, maybe. The Cranks will be all dead by then."

Minho raised his eyebrows. "You don't think you're freaking immortal, do you?"

"Maybe we are," Thomas smirked. "We're immune to the shucking Flare, you know. We could be immune to death, too."

"That would make a nice new trademark phrase for me," Minho thought aloud. "I've been shucked and gone back to life."

"Think about it! You survived a lightning strike, Newt survived a bullet to his head, Frypan cooked in a kitchen for two years, then went around killing Grievers and Cranks and running miles through the Scorch. Clint, too. Gally. How many times did we think he was dead for sure?"

"While you three were bickering, I did some extrapolation of temperature and rainfall." Teresa interrupted. "What's the minimum temperature we can survive?"

"I don't know, about 290 Kelvin?" Thomas thought out loud. The three of them turned to look at him, staring at him with a deadpan expression. "What? I don't like the cold a lot." He shrugged. When their stares didn't waver, he decided to compromise. "Okay, 273?"

Teresa sighed. "This is the minimum temperature we're talking about. I'll put it down at 260. Minimum rainfall?"

"We can always desalinate." Thomas replied. "It won't be too expensive given our population."

Teresa looked at the graph. "Then we still have about 220 years."

"So someone else will have to take decisions when we're dead?" Thomas sighed. "I don't trust those shucks."

"They aren't even born yet, and you don't _trust_ them?" Minho smirked.

"I don't trust them _because_ they aren't even born yet!"

"Still too early to distrust them."

"I didn't say I _distrust_ them, I said I–"

"Are we going to solve the real problem?" Newt intervened. "Get the bloody hell out of here and find something to eat?"

Thomas's stomach rumbled at hearing the mention of eating. It was lunchtime and he hadn't eaten since the previous afternoon, when Teresa and he had found a mango tree. _A mango tree in freaking Antarctica_ , he thought. _The world's seriously shucked._

"I think I found something." Teresa spoke softly. Before Thomas could respond or look at the screen, a blaring alarm went off.


	13. Chapter 12

"What's that?" Thomas yelled over the noise of the alarm.

"I don't know!" Teresa yelled back. "I just pressed a button that claimed to open the exit!"

As if spurred by her reply, the wall ahead of them started … opening. Teresa let out a small gasp as the wall divided itself into a checkerboard pattern as alternate perfect squares, each about a foot wide, begun to rise out of the wall and move around in a bizarre pattern, slowly opening up a gap in between.

The gap continued to widen for a few minutes, until the base of the gap eventually reached the floor. Then abruptly, the alarm stopped ringing and the wall came to a standstill.

"Guessing that's the exit." Thomas suggested.

They got to their feet and entered the tunnel. "Where do you think the buggin' electricity comes from?" Newt asked.

Thomas shrugged. "Solar power, maybe?"

As they trudged on, Thomas thought about the other immunes in the world, how they should rescue them, where they could be housed, and so on. His stream of thoughts was interrupted by Minho shouting. "Dead end! Maybe we should just settle down and live here, happily ever after."

Thomas had the horrible feeling that the entrance to the tunnel might have been closed off, and they were now really trapped in this large cylinder for the rest of their lives.

Newt spoke up, diverting Thomas's attention from his horrid, pessimistic thoughts. "Maybe there's some button we need to press." Then she sighed. "But if there was, we might need to show some identification or something."

Then suddenly, the same alarm went off again, but this time the source was closer, and Thomas put his hands to his ears. This could either mean the exit was opening, or that the entrance was shutting down. Or both.

A flash of light caught his eye, as the door in front of him begun to open, much in the same way as the previous one. In a matter of minutes, the door had fully opened.

"We should get the bloody hell out of here." Newt suggested.

* * *

They found themselves coming out of a well-disguised door in a rock. Frypan came running to them, panting and sweating. "Where've you shanks been?!" He asked. "We were about to send out a search party for you."

"Can we find something to eat, first?" Thomas said, feeling the exhaustion in his own voice. "We haven't eaten breakfast today or dinner yesterday."

* * *

As they chomped on the mangos from another tree, Thomas explained about the trapdoor, the lab, the name of their island, and how they were safe here for another 220 years. Frypan lamented about how he had nothing to cook, and how he missed his days in the Glade kitchen.

"I think I saw some details about the soil in this place, back in the lab," Thomas recalled. "That would be useful when we start to grow stuff here, and Frypan here can cook happily ever after." He grinned at Frypan, whose eyes had grown wide, perhaps excited at the prospect of cooking again.

"We have lots to talk about." Minho said as he finished his mangoes. "There's another shed next to the cliff. We'll have a Gathering."

* * *

"Okay, Greenie." Minho began. "You start, since Ava Paige so kindly deemed you to be the leader."

"Do I get to be called that for the rest of my life?" Thomas sighed. "Anybody got paper?"

Newt pointed to a blackboard. "Let's begin the bloody lesson, Mr Thomas."

"Okay," Thomas rose from his chair to pick up a chalk. "We need to get our priorities straight. Sure, we could delve into all the ideological klunk in setting up this little nation of ours, like capitalism or social liberty, but that's a bit difficult when we only have shucking mangoes to eat."

Minho didn't look like he understood half of what Thomas just said. "What's capitalism?"

Thomas sighed. He looked at Teresa. "We really shouldn't have given Aris and Rachel the responsibility for choosing memories." He turned to Newt. "You still have the other syringe with you?" When Newt nodded, he continued. "Find a vein, stab it into Minho."

Minho jumped from his chair. "Wait!" He held his hands out until Newt stopped moving. "Wait." He turned to Thomas. "Look, I'll get my memories back. There's no reason to force me into it, alright?" He took a deep breath. "I won't hate you after getting my memories back, right?"

"Probably not." Thomas replied. "My only mistake was hiring Rat Man." He smirked. "I bet you'll forgive me for that."

"I won't hate you for it, but I'm not gonna forgive you either." Minho let out a slight snicker as he lied down on the ground.

And with that, Minho begun the changing. Thomas watched as his friend's veins bubbled and his skins turned a tinge of purple. It only seemed to be getting worse by the second, horrifying shrill shrieks escaping his mouth. It was worse than what he had seen with Ben in the homestead back in the Glade. It was outright horrific. The horror he saw manifested on Teresa's and Newt's pale faces must have mirrored his own. Frypan was horrified too, but somehow he pulled out a digital camera and took a photograph. Thomas had no idea where Frypan had gotten the camera, or where he had gotten a freaking 300-year old camera, or why he was taking a photograph. Thomas almost laughed. Here, his best friend was in an indescribable state that no human from outside the Glade or the Square had ever observed, his skin bubbling and purplish, his veins looking like taut ropes under his skin. But what surprised Thomas was the presence of a digital camera. After about a minute, Minho's shrieks had started to get softer, and his skin's bubbling began to calm as his veins relaxed and shrank in size.

Minho woke up within two minutes, and said nothing.

Thomas continued talking. "So as I was saying, we'll delve into the ideological stuff soon, but we'll get our priorities straight."

He turned to the blackboard and started writing.

 **1\. Food**

 **2\. Law and order**

 **3\. Exploration**

 **4\. Infrastructure**

 **5\. Education**

 **6\. Politics**

 **7\. Economy**

 **8\. Immigration/Rescue**

 **9\. Environmental protection**

 **10\. World domination**


	14. Chapter 13

"You sure you spelt the last one right, Thomas?" Minho asked as soon as he was done.

"Absolutely." Thomas replied. "The Flare mutates rapidly." he explained. "The time of infection before death has been growing consistently longer over the past 13 years. The Flare spreads rapidly, so foetuses catch it before they're born. That's why we don't need to worry about immunising children born to immunes. They'll catch the harmless Flare-B before they're born, and thus be born immune. But anyway, this means that the human race will not be wiped out by the Flare."

"Wait." Frypan interrupted. "You're telling me we need to exterminate the human race?"

"Yes." Thomas replied. "This is a long-term plan."

The room broke out into arguments, with Thomas, Teresa and Newt on one side, and Minho and Frypan on the other side. All the while, Thomas thought about how the Swiped Thomas would have been horrified at the idea.

"Everybody slim it!" Newt yelled after five minutes of argument, and the room surprisingly went quiet. He huffed a quick breath. "None of you shanks have a buggin' clue what it's like to be a Crank. To find your shucking sanity slipping away. To know that you're approaching the bloody Gone. That you'll end up a bloody monster, wanting to eat people up and chew your own bloody fingers off. None of you have a buggin' clue."

He pointed at the bandage on his head. "I do. This bloody wound over here reminds me of how desperate I once was. It better remind you shanks too, how bad it is to be a bloody Crank. I wouldn't be any different, even if I had ended up dead. To be dead is better than to end up a Crank. Remember the Cranks who were pounding on our windows back in the dorm at WICKED? Same with 'em. Asking us to kill them. We're doing them a bloody favour by killing them. I support the proposal."

The room fell silent. Minho seemed convinced. Even Frypan looked taken aback. Thomas was glad that Newt was firmly on his side, even if Newt's reasons were more emotional than his own, it sure helped convince those shanks.

There was a brief argument on whether exploration should come before infrastructure and education, with Thomas and Minho arguing against Teresa and Frypan. Newt sat strangely silent during the entire discussion. Teresa and Frypan eventually gave in, realising that infrastructure construction can be done best if they know what the place looks like.

* * *

Later that evening, as Thomas was about to get into bed, he noticed Aris staring at him with a deadpan expression. He returned the stare, but when the other boy's gaze didn't waver, he eventually decided to break the silence.

"Um, hi Aris." He started. "You okay–"

"Why'd you lie to me in the morning?" Aris cut him off, his gaze still unwavering. "That Rachel fell off a cliff?"

Thomas had forgotten about that incident. He smirked at the memory. "Rachel agreed to that herself, ask her," he shrugged. "We just wanted to surprise you."

Aris rolled his eyes, and Thomas continued. "Besides, thank me. And Teresa. We were the ones who convinced WICKED to simulate Rachel's death. Rachel and you were actually disrupting our conversations."

Aris's face suddenly flushed red with shame. "Well, I … I …" he stuttered, "I don't remember that. I know I was very disruptive, that's all," he scratched the back of his head and looked at Thomas's feet as he said that.

"We didn't really know Rachel would die," Thomas shrugged. "We just asked for the sacrifice variable to be simulated. That included Rachel, apparently."

Aris nodded and quickly murmured a "good night" as he entered his room, Chuck and Rachel behind him. Thomas entered his own room and climbed into his bed as he sank into the softness of his mattress, waiting for sleep to engulf him.

* * *

He woke up at midnight to the sound of Teresa mumbling something in her sleep. He caught a few phrases, like "no, no, no", "I'm sorry", "the betrayal … I'll do it", "please spare him". He sighed and rolled onto his side, reaching down with his arm to gently shake her awake. Judging by her breathing rate, she didn't seem like she was having a great dream.

Her eyes fluttered open as she caught her breath. "What's wrong with you?" Thomas asked groggily.

"Are you … alive?" she asked, apparently ignoring her question.

Thomas was slightly surprised. "Last time I checked, yeah." He did a show of measuring his pulse, then continued. "Yep, pretty much alive."

He thought he sensed a roll of eyes from her. "Go to sleep." she muttered. Just as she rolled over, Thomas saw that her eyes were slightly teary.

 _What was the dream about, anyway?_

There was a short pause before she replied. _What WICKED said they'd do to you if I didn't betray you._

Thomas felt a pang of guilt in his chest. _How bad was it?_

 _It involved Cranks and cutting your head open. Enough explanation for you there?_

 _I'm so sorry, Teresa. I don't know what took me so long to 'forgive' you. I'm so, so sorry._

 _Yeah, whatever. Go to sleep._

 _Okay, good night._

* * *

They spent the next day planning the agriculture with the help of the weather and soil readings in the Vaidehi underground laboratory. It turned out that most tropical crops could grow there, at least for the next century, thanks to the massive temperature changes during the solar flares. They finalised the precise details of the plan by evening, and Thomas thought they could get the agriculture up and running within a few weeks.

The plan was simple. For now, until the governance and economic issues were sorted out, every citizen of Vaidehi between the ages of 13 and 65 would have a role to play in the current phase of the settlement's development. For the current phase, the four job options would be the Gatherers, the Builders, the Track-hoes and the Cooks.

The labels were self-explanatory. The Cooks would cook once the agriculture is settled, and the kitchen would eventually be privatised in the economic phase. The Builders would help building a kitchen, as well as a hydroponics building. The Track-hoes would work in the hydroponics building and plow and work in the outdoor gardens. The Gatherers had a dangerous job, as they had to go to the real world to gather hydroponic equipment, seeds and crops.

The Cooks would be lead, of course, by none other than the famous Frypan, and Gally had agreed to lead the Builders. Teresa had wanted to be a Gatherer, but settled for being a Track-hoe instead when reminded of her handicap. Newt and Teresa would help lead the Track-hoes, while Thomas and Minho would take care of the Gatherers.

"Won't we need weapons?" Minho asked him as he settled into his mattress for the night. "The Gatherers. We might need to fight some Cranks out there."

Thomas had been thinking about that. Stealing from shops, and even more so, stealing hydroponic buildings from Cranks was going to be tough. He figured that it wouldn't be too difficult to handle the Immune shopkeepers, who might even agree to join their settlement.

"I think so," he replied. "We'll search the WICKED headquarters tomorrow. I think I know how to reactivate their weapons."

He remembered how he had managed to exploit the same bug that the Right Arm did, to disable all of WICKED's weaponry when he was thirteen years old. The only difference was that Thomas had done it to warn WICKED about the security loophole. Did they listen to him? Of course not.

"WICKED might even have had Transvices," Teresa called from below, her voice muffled by a thick blanket.

"Huh?" Thomas and Minho asked simultaneously.

"It's like a Flat Trans, but it only does half the job."

Thomas couldn't believe how nonchalantly she had said it. A Flat Trans dissembled molecular matter and re-constructed them on the other side. "You mean … you mean it dissembles you but doesn't re-construct you?"

"Yup," Teresa agreed. "My foster-parents used those when they rescued me from Cranks."

Minho moaned. "Man, I thought they'd clone you."

Thomas snorted a laugh at that. "You'd want to use _that_ on yourself, wouldn't you?"

The discussion moved towards how many people each job required, and Thomas was beginning to doze off. They eventually settled on fifty Gatherers, fifty Builders, thirty Track-hoes, and twenty Cooks. Thomas wondered how many people would really like the idea of being a Gatherer, fighting Cranks, killing them with scary weapons that dissembled every molecule in your body.


	15. Chapter 14

They spent the morning gathering immunes and explaining the first phase of the plan. They all seemed more than happy with it. Thomas thought they were probably bored of eating the same limited section of fruits he had found in the forest. He himself had only found mangoes, but he'd seen some other shanks eating bananas and well … that was it.

Surprisingly, being a Gatherer didn't seem to frighten most of the Immunes so much, despite the fact that Thomas considered it to be something like being a Runner. He wondered if the lighter name _Gatherer_ contributed to people's ease with the idea. They managed to get the Immunes divided as per the 50-50-30-20 ratio decided upon earlier.

The Builders had already begun their work building the kitchen, under Gally's leadership. Gally turned out to be surprisingly good at leading the builders. He remembered he had never really thought about Gally's skills as a Builder, or the Keeper of them, back in the Glade. Newt was instructing the Track-Hoes on their first task, relating to finding a suitable place to plant trees and other stuff that couldn't be grown hydroponically. Teresa stood by his side, silent, although she had done most of the planning previously. Thomas thought she expected Newt to be more charismatic in his pep-talks, since he didn't have to walk on crutches.

After waving them off, Thomas and Minho lead the army of Gatherers through the Flat Trans, before Thomas reinstated the Force Field. Teresa had given him a worried look as he passed the Flat Trans.

 _Be careful,_ she thought to him, her voice full of concern. _Don't die._

Thomas let out a laugh at that. _Great, now we're all …_ He trailed off, realising he had just stolen Newt's trademark phrase … _we're all_ shucking _inspired_ , he completed.

He sensed a laugh from her, just as Minho called to him. "Okay, Thomas," he started, "Judging from your uncharacteristic silence, you're obviously having a mind conversation with your girlfriend, and I hate to intervene, but we have more important matters to deal with here."

Thomas scoffed a laugh at that. _Talk to you later_ , he thought to Teresa. _Minho says we have more important matters to deal with than our mind conversations._

"–you plant the device, anyway?" Thomas realised Minho was still talking. The last thing he wanted to do was set Minho off by telling him he wasn't listening, so he decided to guess. "The toilet," he replied, not bothering about how crude that sounded.

Minho raised his eyebrows. "How … creative. And … how subtle," he pretended to force the words out.

Thomas decided to joke around a little bit. "Oh, it's really subtle. I might have flushed it down. Not tellin'."

The expression on Minho's face was priceless.

As they walked away from the maintenance room, Thomas absorbed the scene around him. The corpses were still there, although he could not spot Rat Man's. The rubble remained, but the headquarters was not completely destroyed. Sure, it had suffered extreme damage, but the structure of the building could still be seen. The Right Arm's explosives had terribly failed. The offices were empty, and he didn't need to be told that the inhabitants were either dead, or unemployed due to WICKED's shutdown.

"Okay, we're here," Minho announced as they reached the toilet. He suddenly clapped his hands once for some reason. "Now let's flush Thomas here down the toilet so he can reprogram the device." A few snickers broke out in the crowd as Thomas rolled his eyes and entered the bathroom.

The bathroom had been heavily battered, but the device was not damaged, although it had fallen into the toilet bowl, which for some reason, had been sucked dry of water.

He fished the device out as Teresa called to him. _You're okay?_

 _Yeah, I'm okay, Teresa. The device is okay too, just in the midst of klunk. Quite literally._

He sensed a laugh from her, then she started talking. _You hid it in the toilet, didn't you?_

Thomas laughed. _That was the only place where Rat Man let me have some privacy._

She laughed again. _Okay, talk to you later._

Thomas had a look at the device. It looked fine, and a green light was shining from a small LED which had a power icon next to it. The device had a USB 210.0 port, which he hoped could function as an alternative to the remote programming that Charlotte Chiswell used.

"Anyone got a computer and a USB connector?" he asked as he exited the bathroom through a gaping hole in the door.

Minho and the rest stared at him blankly. Thomas sighed. "Okay, follow me then."

* * *

Minho simply followed Thomas as he led them up a flight of stairs and down a hallway. He was surprised at how much Thomas had changed since having gotten his memories back. He never thought he would say this, but the Thomas with his memories intact was actually a cleverer, more rational, and nicer person than the one with memories swiped.

Minho did not consider himself rational. Not one bit. He knew he had above-average intelligence, but he was not rational. The only reason he now accepted _the WICKED is_ _Good_ mantra was because his friends, Thomas and Newt accepted it. Despite the show on the outside, on the inside, he was driven purely by emotions. He carried the pain of seeing dozens of friends die, of his parents strangling each other as they progressed towards the Gone, of himself and his own suffering through WICKED's trials. He had never let it show, and he knew his friends considered himself to be immune to grief.

He wasn't. He had lived in the Glade, ran the Maze for two years, knew every Glader as much as he knew himself. It pained him when Alby told him about Newt's attempt to suicide. Every death had pained him, and continued to pain him. His heart had ached when Newt listed the names of those who died in the storm back in the Scorch. Even for Winston. But he covered everything up, just like Newt had always covered up his depression. To be the kind of leader that people wanted him to be. When Thomas read out Ava Paige's letter, he thought he could finally be himself, since Thomas was chosen leader. But that klunkface Thomas insisted on having a cabinet. _Too much authority is dangerous_ , he had said. He thought he would be assigned to defence, a less important and less stressing portfolio. Until the klunkface put down his ultimate plan of _world domination_. That klunkface.

His thoughts were interrupted by, of course, the same klunkface, his friend.

"This was my office at WICKED," Thomas whispered, as if in a trance, "Teresa and I used to work here."

The room was somehow, completely free of damage. Thomas continued to stare at a random point on the floor.

Finally, Minho decided to wake him up. "Calling Thomas? Not a great time to daydream. Why'd you bring us here?" He snapped his fingers in front of Thomas.

Thomas finally looked up, then pointed at a grey laptop that was over three milimetres thick. _Must be powerful_ , Minho thought.

Thomas turned to face the crowd. "While I rev the weapons back up, you shanks go find every lovin' weapon in the building. And don't fire anything, even if it isn't working Report back here in an hour."

 _Lovin'?_ Minho frowned. Weapons aren't loving at all, and more importantly, that was Newt's trademarked word. He turned to leave when Thomas stopped him. "You stay," he told him, "I might need some help."

"Great, so I'm your secretary now?" Minho grumbled.

Thomas had been working on the device since about half an hour, without needing too much help, besides things like _check if that light's still beeping_ or _charge the device up_. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing. When asked, he explained that he had hacked into the security system three years ago to warn WICKED about their security flaws. Of course, they hadn't bothered to fix anything. Thomas explained how they didn't really need such a powerful computer but WICKED gave them one anyway. Rachel and Aris had been in charge of the coding for the maze, while Thomas and Teresa had been in charge of the math behind it.

Minho observed that Thomas was simultaneously having a mind conversation with Teresa as he talked to Minho _and_ worked on the device. The trick still freaked him out, but he was now able to read Thomas's face to tell if he was having a mind conversation.

Minho was jolted out of his thoughts when the sound of a clanging bell started ringing from the device. "What's going on?" he asked, startled.

Thomas replied in the most bizarre way. "Yeah, love you too, whatever. Now shut up because something weird's happening."

He was already tapping the trackpad furiously, but managed to clarify before Minho could ask. "Sorry, I was talking to Teresa simultaneously and mixed up my responses."

Minho snickered. He knew Thomas would mess up his ridiculous multi-tasking eventually. "Need any help?"

"No, shuck thing's not responding. Need to fix this before the Right Arm gets alerted."

The Right Arm? Minho hadn't thought about those shanks. Before he could say anything, the alarm stopped and Thomas started talking.

"Okay, done. Now the Right Arm can't do a thing with this device. _Plus_ I found a way to automatically disable any similar devices in case those shucks want to harm us in any way," he explained.

Minho snickered. "Vince is probably a Crank by now. You still care about those slintheads?"

Thomas seemed to ignore him. "Anyway, next up. Where do we gather crops from? I was thinking about the Glade."

Minho had forgotten about that. The plants had probably dropped dead by now, but there were stocks of seeds, fertiliser, and other useful klunk. But then again … "The sky there had been artificial. Wouldn't it have dropped to the ground by now?"

Thomas scoffed at that. "Didn't you see how pathetic the explosives turned out to be? We'll probably see holes in the sky, that's all."

Before he could reply, the door flung open and Sonya came running into the room with a large shiny grey weapon he didn't recognise. She gasped for air. "Harriet … she … she … she shot herself."


	16. Chapter 15

Thomas's eyes widened at that. He had never particularly liked Harriet or any of the other members of Group B, but hearing that she committed suicide still came across as a shock. "What?" he asked.

Sonya caught her breath. "She said she couldn't tolerate all the death, and that seeing Rachel alive was the 'last straw'. She had always hated Rachel for having worked for WICKED." She seemed at the verge of tears. "She asked me to choose. Between shooting Rachel and shooting herself. I … I…"

Thomas was shocked to hear that. Since he had entered the Box the same day as Rachel had, he hadn't seen Harriet's killzone patterns with regards to Rachel. But to hear someone say they hated you enough they'd kill themselves if you were alive, was something he had never heard of. He heard sniffles from Sonya, and ignored it, leaving Minho to handle her.

Not that Minho was especially good at comforting people. All he said was "She was obviously a psychopath. She's better off dead." Thomas cringed at hearing that. Minho was right, of course, but it didn't seem like the best way to comfort someone.

 _Teresa?_ he called.

 _Tom? What happened? What did the alarm turn out to be?_

 _Don't worry about that. It's fixed now. There's something else, perhaps more important._

 _What?_

 _How does a Transvice look like?_

 _Well, the ones I've seen looked like a Launcher, but slightly smaller, have thicker triggers, and they look kind-of fragile, although they're not. They have this container thing on the top, and they let out a mild orange light._

 _Looks like we've got one._

 _Oh god, be careful. What if someone shoots the thing?_

 _I haven't enabled the Transvices yet._ It was a lie to keep Teresa calm. He had enabled all the devices. For all he knew, that could have been exactly what Harriet used to kill herself.

The room was now full of people, and Minho was counting. "49," he announced when he finished, making Sonya flinch a little. "I say we divide ourselves into two groups. One group enters the Glade, one group enters the Square."

They spent the next five minutes organising the Vaidehites into two groups. The first group, lead by Minho had 24 people, while the second, lead by Sonya, had 25. She had claimed the extra person for her group, reasoning that Aris had arrived with a few sacks of grains, so they'd need more people to carry it. Besides, the first group had both Minho _and_ Thomas who knew how to navigate the Maze, while her group had only her.

Transvices ended up being quite rare, and only the "trusted" people were allowed to carry them, which meant Thomas, Minho, Sonya, and the woman whom Thomas had met before entering Vaidehi. Thomas trusted her, for some reason, and had the odd feeling that he had seen her somewhere before.

* * *

This was the fifth person Thomas had to help someone back to his feet. This time it was a man in his mid-30s, whom, for some reason, resembled Frypan. "Just one more hour, come on!" He wasn't great at cheering them up, although better than Minho. Like the four people before him, the man began complaining, ticking Minho off. "Why can't we just walk?" he cried.

"Complain any further and we will throw you to the Grievers!" Minho yelled from ahead. Thomas sighed. These people had hardly any idea about the Grievers. The only time they had even briefly seen Grievers was during their rescue from the Glade.

If not for those who kept stumbling and tiring, Thomas could have enjoyed the run like he had during the short time that he had been a Runner back in the Glade. But in the current situation, he almost wished he could walk. Almost.

Thomas absorbed the scene around him. Large sections of the walls had collapsed, but the shape of the corridors could still be easily made out. The Maze looked as huge and magnificient as ever, with the thick ivy constantly reminding Thomas of the night in the Maze.

Eventually, they reached the Glade. A lot of the Vaidehites around him looked ready to burst with exhaustion. It turned out that the "sky" of the Glade was unaffected. Thomas guessed that the Right Arm didn't realise the sky was fake. The walls were largely run-down, but the place looked magnificient nevertheless.

Minho sent people off to collect seeds and klunk from the kitchen and the gardens. Thomas would help, of course, but how could he resist the temptation of re-exploring the place a little. _Just a little,_ he thought. _Yeah, right._

He went straight into the Weapons Room, relishing the nostalgic smell of copper. _I kinda like the smell_ , Minho had once said about the Map Room. _Yeah,_ _me too,_ he thought. _I love the smell of an abandoned copper mine_. He looked at the old map trunks. "Who's gonna notice?" he whispered to himself as he slipped them into his sack

"Ahem!" Thomas spun around to see Minho standing behind him, a huge smirk across his face. " _I'm_ going to notice, shuckface. What'd you want the maps for?"

Thomas smiled sheepishly. "I don't know, make a museum or something? It's just nostalgic."

Minho stared at the floor for a long moment, then begun talking. "Yeah. We might not notice, but the Glade will be in our history books one day." He looked into the distance. "One day, children will be taught about the Maze, WICKED, the Flare, the PFC."

Thomas just nodded. He had never heard Minho say something so deep and so true. Of course, that had to be complemented by something stupid.

"And I'll be remembered as the shank who saved everyone's life," he finished, snickering.

Thomas rolled his eyes and continued. "We'll have national holidays to mark the day of our escape from the Maze. To mark the day we entered Paradise. Maybe one to mark the day we fulfil the task of world domination." He continued. "We'll have the little rituals we had back in the Glade, throwing sticks into fire."

Minho scoffed. "That's just Sunday, you shuck." Then his expression cleared. "Although it would be nice to gather the Gladers to remember the days in the Glade." Minho paused, looking solemn. "The remaining ones, anyway," he finished in a low tone.

"Yeah," Thomas replied, suddenly losing the urge to talk. "I miss them. Zart. Alby. Jack. Ben."

At the mention of Ben, Minho looked up, an expression of surprise on his face. " _You_ miss Ben?"

Thomas slowly nodded. "Not really miss him, but I feel guilty for his death." He remembered the time before Ben had been sent into the Maze. He had been a relatively clever kid, silent and introverted. He had, without WICKED's knowing, been a good friend of Thomas before Thomas was induced to work for WICKED. Of course, this was illegal - Ben was a commoner, just an ordinary subject, while Thomas was an Elite, the highest Elite in fact, who would soon be sent to work for WICKED, to be second only to the Chancellor.

It seemed that Minho, too, had lost his urge to talk, and Thomas was glad for it. He nodded and walked away, while Thomas continued to collect artifacts for the planned museum. One of the Runners, Tyler, had apparently made a three-dimensional model of the Maze. It was intriguing, really. Moving the doors of the model Glade pulled on other walls, moving them and changing the Maze. Tyler was, unfortunately, not Immune, and was probably near the Gone by now. Thomas shuddered at the thought.

 _Teresa?_ He called.

 _Is everything okay?_ She replied, sounding slightly breathless, perhaps from all the ploughing.

 _Yup, we're in the Glade, collecting seeds and … other stuff._

 _What other stuff?_

 _Just tell Gally to dedicate a few people to build a museum._

 _A museum? We don't have food to eat, and you want to build a museum?_

 _Teresa … this is a crucial juncture in human history. The Flare, the Glade … it will all be in our history books. This is important._

 _Fine. I'll tell Gally._

 _Good that. Tell them to make it look like a Maze wall._

* * *

The Immunes had been divided into five groups, each with about five members. One group collected seeds. Another group collected kitchen equipment. Another collected building tools - Thomas hoped that the Builders back in Vaidehi had found something to build with. Another group collected artifacts. Another group scraped up klunk, literally. Cow klunk made reasonably good fertiliser.

They gathered at the common area between the two Mazes, waiting for Sonya's group. Luckily, Minho had agreed to let the Vaidehites walk back out of the Maze, which had been hard enough, considering the heavy sacks they were each carrying. Sonya's group came out just ten minutes later and they apparently had the same idea of collecting artifacts for a museum.

"We've been waiting for nearly an hour." Minho lied. "Time you caught up with us, slowpokes!"

Sonya gave him an annoyed look, as if she saw right through his trivial lie. "Okay, let's go."

* * *

 _Wish you were in here_ , he had said. Teresa wished he hadn't - it brought back too many memories. Last time she had heard that from him, it didn't end well. She still shuddered at the memory. Her being separated from the Gladers, then united with Group B, being forced to "betray" the Gladers and Thomas. She shook the memory away. They were safe now, and she shouldn't be thinking about the terror they had gone through.

She did like the idea of setting up a museum. She wondered about how the Gladers would be remembered through history, how WICKED would be remembered through history, an organisation with a well-concealed massive internal strife. She felt pride swell in her chest, but it went as quickly as it came. Every single resident of Vaidehi had seen a lot. She had seen more than most, but it was still not much.

For some reason, she wondered about how the rest might think about being remembered in history. Thomas would probably be scratching his head at the thought, feeling the same slight pride that she had. Minho would probably make some snarky remark, like _I'm going to be remembered as the guy who saved everyone's butt_. Yeah, typical Minho. Newt, Rachel, Aris … they would be indifferent. Or at least act like it. What about Brenda and Jorge? Or Frypan, or Gally? She had no idea.

That jolted her out of her thoughts. Thomas had asked her to get Gally to assign a team for building the museum. She wondered if Gally would listen. Well, he _was_ a changed shank. _No pun intended_ , she thought. _No pun related to the Changing intended._

It had quickly turned dark, and she was done with her weeding and ploughing work, which she didn't particularly like, mainly due to her limp. She trudged towards the spot Gally stood, hammering a nail into a wooden plank for no apparent reason. Climbing the slope with walking sticks proved more difficult than sliding down, and she slightly bruised her knee against a rock. It was hardly an addition to the dozens of cuts and bruises she already had throughout her body, in addition to her limp.

"Gally!" she yelled. "Thomas had some instructions to convey to you."

Gally looked back. "Thomas?" he scoffed. "You think I give a klunk about what Thomas says?"

Teresa ignored him. "He told you to get a group of builders to start building a museum. The Gatherers are getting stuff from the Glade."

Gally twitched a little upon hearing the mention of the Glade. "That's pretty vague."

"He said it should look like a Maze wall. Nothing else. I suppose he expected you to be able to come up with a plan."

But before Gally could reply, a commotion from near the Flat Trans caught their attention. The Gatherers had returned for the day.

Gally took off towards them, and Teresa followed at a slower pace.

Thomas reached the front of the group, looking solemn. "One casualty," he announced.

Teresa's eyes widened. Was it still dangerous out there? What had happened? Before she could ask, Minho started speaking. "Nothing to worry about, it was suicide," he said, as if that was completely normal.

Voices erupted from the crowd that had gathered around them.

"Who?"

"How did he commit suicide?"

" _Why_ did they commit suicide?"

"How do you know it was suicide?"

"Where's the body?"

Minho shushed them by slapping a poor nearby soul. "Slim it, everyone! Harriet. Sonya saw her shoot herself with a Transvice. She's evaporated into thin air, and we have no idea why she commited suicide."

Thomas was fidgeting besides him as if he knew something but didn't want to tell. Teresa resolved to make him tell her later.

She made her way to the front of the crowd to talk to Thomas. She noticed he had a Transvice in his hands. She had vague memories of it from the time before she joined WICKED, when her name was Deedee, but it had been a while since she had seen one right before her own eyes.

She was jolted out of her thoughts when she saw a little kid, who couldn't be more than six, run towards the Transvice and smashed his head against its barrel. She was about to yell at him to stop, to alert Thomas, when the kid reached for the trigger.


	17. Chapter 16

Thomas had been lost in his own thoughts, remembering the days back in the Glade, the time when he used to work for WICKED, the vague memories he had of his parents, from before WICKED. He hadn't noticed the kid at all when he ran to the barrel of his Transvice. But then he felt two tiny, soft hands on his, snapping him out of his thoughts. He turned to look behind him when he noticed a young kid reaching for the trigger. "I want to go back to Mommy," the kid whispered, and that was when he realised what the kid was going to do.

"Stop!" he yelled, but it was too late. The kid pulled the trigger, and a the orange light emanating from the Transvice considerably brightened. A bolt of pure, brilliant white light shot out of the barrel of the Transvice, slamming onto the kid's face. Thomas stood rooted to the ground in horror as the kid's body turned grey like old ash, and all details and dimension disappeared from his body, making him look like a piece of shimmering grey cloth, ripples forming throughout his body.

Thomas felt sick that he almost dropped the Transvice. Was it his fault? Obviously not. The kid had committed suicide. Two suicides in one day. How would they ever survive this way?

Luckily, Minho spoke up for him. His face was lit with anger as he addressed the crowd. "Two suicides in one day," he said solemnly, then suddenly raised his voice. "How are we ever going to survive like this?"

Minho rubbed his face before continuing. "This klunk better not continue. We're the future of the human race. Nobody better have such selfish, suicidal thoughts again, you get me?"

"He's just a kid!" someone from the crowd shouted.

"I don't freaking care!" Minho hollered back. "We all need to act for the benefit of the human race, do our best to save this shuck species. I don't care if you're a pants-wetting baby or a 90-year old on his freaking deathbed."

"And if you thought that shooting yourself with a Transvice is a painless way out," Teresa added, "Let me tell you you're completely mistaken. Sorry to break it to you, but this little kid is going to be left flying around for the rest of eternity screaming for someone to put him back together again."

It was a lie, of course, and Thomas knew that very well, but he was more than fine with lying if it prevented people from killing themselves.

* * *

The Builders had built a weapons room in the secret trapdoor beneath the wooden shed. Minho had gotten four religious shanks to swear their faiths into guarding the room with their life. Thomas thought that was a clever idea, although he couldn't help but cringe at using people's ignorance for a good cause.

Thomas entered his dormitory at night. He had previously deposited the sacks of artifacts in the small room, occupying at least half the ground, besides the beds. Teresa was already there, settled into her mattress, underneath two layers of blankets, fully covering her face. It wouldn't hurt to play a little prank, would it?

"Thomas?" she mumbled from below the blankets.

He spoke in his best imitation of Rat Man's voice. "It's A.D. Janson. WICKED thanks you for your participation in Phase-IV of the trials, Subject A1."

"Good that," she muttered as she rolled over, "Go to sleep, _A.D. Janson_.".

Thomas sighed. "Do I need to bring a Griever in here to frighten you?"

"A Crank would do."

"Then I'll start looking for some."

"Thank you, Subject A2."

Thomas smirked as he approached the ladder to climb into his own bed, when he spotted Teresa's crutches. He was once again hit by a wave of guilt. He sighed and walked over to where Teresa's head laid.

"I haven't said this often, Teresa … but I'm sorry. Sorry for being such a slinthead … refusing to _forgive_ you for trying to save my life. Until you almost killed yourself to save me."

Teresa started laughing at the first mention of _sorry_. "I think you've said that often all right," she said, her voice muffled by the blankets, then lowered it, revealing her face.

Thomas felt a smile tugging at the ends of his lips. "So … forgiven?"

"I could be stubborn like you were, but … okay, forgiven."

Thomas couldn't help but smile. "Good night," he whispered as he climbed into his own bed. He couldn't remember the last time he had, but tonight, he drifted into sleep with a wide smile across his lips.


	18. Chapter 17

Newt woke up to a bizarre sight. Thomas was clutching a pole next to his bed, effectively hanging from it, mumbling random words in his sleep. Teresa and Minho were standing upright, Teresa leaning onto her crutches, staring at Thomas blankly, while Minho had a look of confusion across his face.

"Griever … Minho … don't know … mother … they didn't die … back home … don't care … griever … "

Newt got out of bed and pushed his way towards Thomas. "Bloody he–" he started, but Teresa shushed him. "I want to hear," she said. "And besides, he might fall off if we wake him up." She looked back at him. "What's wrong?" she asked when she noticed Newt's confused expression.

"For one, he's hanging off a bloody pole, and he's asleep," Newt scoffed. "And if he falls off … like two people with limps in this room wasn't enough."

"Except both of the two got their limps intentionally," Minho chimed in, the first he had said since Newt woke up.

Teresa scowled, but Newt just stared at Minho. He absolutely did not want his suicide attempt to be made public. Minho looked apologetic, but didn't say a word.

Teresa's eyes narrowed, looking at Newt. "How _did_ you get your limp, anyway?"

Newt wished it was something heroic like Teresa's, but it was really the complete opposite. Luckily, Thomas woke up, turning Teresa's attention away from him and his limp.

Thomas seemed to have noticed that he was grabbing a pole, and groggily climbed down.

"Why were you climbing a bugg–" Newt asked.

"Not the first time he's done it." Teresa cut him off.

Thomas let out a proud laugh upon hearing that, his grogginess promptly washed away. "Let's just say she had been trying to prank me, back when we worked for WICKED, and the prank turned on her, all thanks to this weird habit of mine," he beamed proudly. "And it had to do with pepper. Lots of it. 5 kilograms, to be exact."

Teresa's cheeks flushed a bright red, with embarassment. Or anger - Newt couldn't tell.

"Right, and what was your dream about?" Teresa asked, not looking directly at Thomas.

Thomas let out a slight smile. "A baby griever. Accusing me of killing its mother."

"And what was the part about Minho?" Newt asked.

"Oh, yeah, that," Thomas replied, his voice completely indifferent. "The baby Griever resembled Minho somehow. I didn't know we could have human-Griever hybrids." Thomas looked like he was trying hard to suppress a laugh, while Minho's right palm balled into a fist. Just as Minho's fist flew through the air, Thomas ducked and darted out of the room, Minho on his heels. Teresa clambered out of the dormitory, Newt following suit.

"Minho _did_ fall in love with a Griever once," Teresa muttered, and Newt did not try to ask for clarification.

Minho was chasing Thomas across the hallway, and there was no mistaking what Thomas was doing. He was performing his little _wait-and-dive_ tactic that he earlier applied on the Grievers, only driving Minho even more mad.

Newt shook his head and went for breakfast, which was still only wild fruits from random trees in the forest.

* * *

He found them after breakfast, standing next to a tree. He was surprised to find that Minho wasn't trying to murder Thomas, but they were bickering nevertheless.

"–the deal: you don't kill me, and I don't tell anybody about your love affair with a Griever," Thomas was saying.

Newt turned around to walk away. He did not want to hear this conversation.

* * *

"Alright, we'll have some changes to the grouping," Thomas announced. "The Track-hoes and Cooks have nothing to do, so they'll help the Builders, who have a ton of work at the present."

Some sighed, some cheered, and Thomas shushed them and called the Gatherers to stand up.

"Do you all still want to be Gatherers? We need shanks to clean the Homestead, clean toilets and stuff. Who wants to switch to being a Slopper?"

Some Gatherers raised their arms, about 20, but Thomas had expected more. Perhaps the prospect of cleaning toilets wasn't much more inviting to them. "Fine, you guys elect your leader." he announced as he dismissed the Vaidehites to their Keepers.

* * *

Thomas had found Jorge and convinced him to join the Gatherers. He thought they might need to use a Berg some time, and an experienced Berg pilot would come to use.

They took off through the Flat Trans, Thomas closing the Force Field behind them, and again into the WICKED headquarters.

"Wait!" Thomas yelled. "I have an idea." He had been thinking about this for a while. Building a hydroponic farm from scratch was probably a bad idea, given how little experience the Builders would have with that.

Minho raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"Instead of carrying hydroponic equipment back, why don't we pass a hydroponic farm through the Flat Trans?"

Minho looked at him like he had said the dumbest thing in history. "Look, Thomas, I know that I'm shucking unbeatable and mighty as klunk, but I still don't consider myself good enough to push a freaking multi-storey farm around." He was practically shouting the last few words.

"You don't get what I mean," Thomas insisted. "We don't need to push the building through. We can push the Flat Trans across the building."

* * *

Teresa had been given an easier job thanks to her handicap. She sat on the floor, hammering a nail through two planks of wood, as she was instructed. She didn't like the job of being a Builder, and hoped that the Gatherers would get some hydroponic equipment today so she could return to her job of being a Track-hoe. She didn't love her earlier job either, but it was reasonable. _Gatherer_ , she thought. _Just let my handicap wear off._

She heard Thomas's voice in her skull again, but it was too choppy to make out what he had said.

 _Tom?_ _Did you say something?_

 _I need your help. Dissolve the Force Field and take it out of the shed._

Teresa sneaked away from the Builders and did as she was told, recalling the gestures Thomas had told her about the previous day. _Okay._

Teresa noticed that the Flat Trans was expanding quickly. What the hell was happening?

Then Thomas was speaking again. _Is the Flat Trans getting larger now?_

 _Yeah. What's going on?_

 _Good that. Now push the thing next to the hospital, and make sure there's at least 30 metres of space in front of it._

Teresa dragged the Flat Trans by its 2-centimetre thick solid edge, wondering what the Gatherers were up to. Why wouldn't he tell her? _That shuckface_ , she thought. _He's always like that,_ _specific instructions, but no specific details, unless you demand for them._ And Teresa was in no mood to demand instructions. She just did as she was told.

 _Done,_ she finally said. _Now what?_

 _Now get away from it._

 _Okay._ She shuffled away from the Flat Trans , wondering what was going on. But before she could say anything, a twenty-storey building was emerging through it. What in the _world_?

 _It's a hydroponic farm_ , Thomas explained.

Teresa realised what had happened. The Gatherers had passed the Flat Trans across the building. _That was clever,_ she said.

 _Thank you,_ Teresa _Agnes for your kind appreciation,_ Thomas replied in a formal tone that was extremely cheesy and overdone. _Would you kindly inform the Builders to stop their klunky attempt of building a shucking hydroponic farm?_

 _Very funny, Tom_. She mentally sent him an eye-roll. _Alright, I'll inform Gally_.

She couldn't push away the feeling that despite being thousands of kilometres away, Thomas and the rest were just on the other side of the Flat Trans. The thought almost frightened her. Almost.

* * *

The Gatherers had had a tiresome day. The farm was abandoned, but the street was not. Guarding the Flat Trans from Cranks took some effort, to say the least. Minho was babbling about how their little settlement didn't need hydroponics and how traditional farming was enough, but Thomas ignored him. He had no intention on going back to caveman levels, or on waiting for another 3000 years to get back to the state of the world that was before the solar flares. Their population could be small, but their development didn't have to be.

They were finally back at the WICKED headquarters, which was situated far from the city, and on the edge of a cliff. It was a good thing that Flat Transae were sturdy, because Thomas didn't want to think about what might happen in the case that the headquarters is destroyed in a landslide.

Thomas was first to enter the Flat Trans. The moment he put his foot across the Flat Trans, he realised something was amiss. The gravity was acting _upwards_ on his foot, but normally across the rest of his body. _What in the world?_

It was too late. His face dived into the Flat Trans, and the scene before him was bizarre. He was hanging from the top of a bottomless abyss. Nope, he wasn't hanging. The gravity was acting upwards on his face, while in the part of his head behind the Flat Trans, gravity acted downwards, normally. He stumbled out of the Flat Trans, and his head crashed into the top of the bottomless abyss, resulting in him crumbling into a mess. As Thomas regained his sense of direction, he realised it wasn't the top of a bottomless abyss. It was the ground.

Beside him, Minho was sprawled on the ground, and soon, all thirty Gatherers were piling on top of each other awkwardly.

Thomas pushed himself out of the heap, realising what had just happened. Teresa was walking towards him, a blank look on her face, and Thomas playfully shoved her. "What did you _do_?"

"Me? What did _I_ do?" She pointed towards the heap of bodies, which was slowly shrinking as people crawled their way out. "What's that?"

"You put the shucking Flat Trans upside down, shuckface!"

Teresa bit her lip looking at the pile of people scrambling away from each other, and the look on her face was a priceless mixture of embarassment and amusement.

"You almost literally turned this place upside down," Thomas completed.

"We need to punish her!" Minho was yelling from behind.

Thomas turned around. "Forget it, it's a mistake from negligence." He said. "Now make yourself useful. Turn the Flat Trans back upright."

Minho grumbled something incoherently, but did as he was told.

Minho insisted on publicising Teresa's mistake as a compromise for not punishing her, but Thomas opposed it, saying it would only give people more pranky ideas, even deadly ones, and they should just be careful next time before passing through a Flat Trans. Minho gave up eventually, but promised that he would take his revenge one day.

The Sloppers had cleaned the homestead and the bathrooms, which came as a relief to Thomas, who was growing sick of the stench of stale urine in every bathroom.

The Builders were done with the kitchen, and they had been working on the fence (a square with perimeter 10 kilometres) building the foundation for a hydroponic building. Gally was grumbling about the _lack of early planning_ ,but eventually calmed down when Thomas convinced him the work wasn't wasted – that they could use it for the museum.

Frypan was busy in the kitchen, sorting the supplies acquired from the Glade and the Square.

As for Thomas, he sat down at the cliff, thinking about all the advancements their settlement had gone through. People were working impressively efficiently, and Thomas thought that at this rate, their little settlement could be a functioning city-state within a year. He heard a clicking noise behind him, and tilted his head to see Teresa walking towards him. Her bruises looked much better, and she was walking much faster than before, almost making him shout at her to be more careful.

"Is your limp getting better?" he asked. "You're walking much faster than before."

"Yeah," she smiled as she slowly lowered herself to sit next to him. "I can actually stand without my crutches now, and it doesn't hurt too much."

"Whoa," Thomas recalled the time she had tried to stand in the hospital room. He remembered it all too well. "You'll be back to normal soon, I'm sure of it."

"Maybe I'll be able to join the Gatherers, then," She leaned closer to him and grabbed his shoulders. Her hands found the back of his head, and then the sides of his face, making him look into her eyes. "It's been a while, Tom. Since the tower back in the Scorch."

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer to him and squeezing tightly. And then their lips met.

He pulled away to breathe. "Not if you count the time–"

"I don't," she interrupted him. "I saw it in your eyes, Tom. You felt nothing, so I don't count it."

Thomas looked at her in the eyes, then slowly nodded. "Yeah. I'm sorry. Really. I don't know what was … I'll never forgive myself for being such a shuckface, Teresa. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she shrugged. "I know. It was as if something had possessed you. I'm just glad it's worn out now."

Thomas laughed a little. "Yeah. And I'm glad to have my memories back. Really. I should have gotten it back earlier, right?"

"Yeah, you should have."

Thomas suddenly remembered what Teresa had told him when she met him, kidnapped by WICKED. "Hey, you said something about them convincing you we had already escaped. How did that go?"

"I had gotten my memories back, and was convinced that WICKED was good. It was the first thing I had said when I woke up. Brenda heard that, and called me over to tell me about WICKED's intentions of repeat the trials until the Immunes run dry. We discussed an escape plan, and that's when she told me you guys had already broken loose. But we still searched. Every room. Why do you think she lied?"

Things were starting to fall into place for Thomas now. But it all lead to a single, shocking conclusion. "Teresa, can you really not see what it all means?"

She looked up at him and stared blankly. "What?"

"The escape from WICKED. Going to Denver, it was all planned. It was all part of the trials." Thomas remembered how easily Rat Man had given up his key card, just to avoid getting shot by a Launcher grenade. He recalled how Brenda had claimed that Jorge had hacked into the Berg tracking system, while WICKED themselves couldn't do it. He recalled the ridiculously vague excuses Jorge had provided to enter Denver, how he had the fake documents readied so quickly. He couldn't believe he didn't come to the conclusion earlier.

She shook her head. "No, I don't think so. Why would the trials include letting us join the Right Arm? And why don't we remember anything about … "

She trailed off, and in an instant, everything came into place for Thomas. He leapt to his feet. "I get it! I get it! I'm a shuck genius, I swear!"

Teresa rolled her eyes in disgust. "Get what?"

He knelt down beside her. "Don't you see it?

The Right Arm was a creation of WICKED, just another variable.

Think about it, why did Rat Man give up his keycard so easily?

How could Jorge hack into the Berg tracking system, while WICKED themselves couldn't do it?

Where was the "safe place" Jorge landed for 10 hours, and why did WICKED not chase us?

How did Brenda know of that, if she just woke up from the Launcher hit seconds before me?

How could Jorge ready the fake documents so quickly?

Why did WICKED force Gally to get his memories back?

Why would WICKED let Gally go, just because he started acting crazy? He was immune!

Why didn't the Right Arm spies just break Gally out?

How did Gally go up the ranks so quickly at the Right Arm? He didn't have _that_ much inside knowledge.

Who let out the signal to Gally over the Netblock?

Why was Jorge so secretive about how he got Hans's address?

Why was Hans friendly with Brenda, despite the fact that she worked for WICKED?

When WICKED controlled me, why didn't they control Minho too? Then they could have killed Hans.

Why did WICKED save me from the bounty hunter, when he would have returned me to WICKED?

Why didn't WICKED send immunes or wear equipment like the Red Shirts to find me, if they were concerned about "high infection rates" in Denver? Why didn't they put me on a "Wanted" list?

How did the Red Shirts find out about Newt being in the Berg?

How did Vince so easily give up such a huge secret of theirs to me?

Tons of people must have gone to the bathroom at WICKED, yet nobody pointed out the device.

When I returned to WICKED to plant the device, why were there no security checks?

Why didn't WICKED ask for an explanation of how I returned?

Didn't WICKED see the Berg landing near their headquarters? It was just a few kilometres away.

How did the Right Arm manage to plant explosives in every nook and corner of WICKED?

Has it ever seemed strange to you that Jorge is a pilot, Brenda a technician, yet they had other roles?

Wouldn't WICKED notice unexpected patterns in my killzone when I returned to them?

How did WICKED magically find Newt lying on the street with a bullet to his head?"

Teresa's jaw had dropped slightly. "But why … I don't remember ever having known about any trials after Phase 3 … about a Phase 4."

"That's because you already had your memories during Phase 4. They did everything to make sure we never find about Phase 4, otherwise you would have found out about it when you got your memories back."

They both went silent for a moment.

"Shuck me," Thomas whispered. "I wouldn't be surprised if I woke up right now to find out that everything after the Scorch was a stupid simulation."

Teresa smiled. "No, way. I'm … shuck, this is like arguing with a solipsist."

Thomas smiled back, but then an awful thought struck him, and his expression turned into horror. He looked at Teresa. "You think we're safe now? What if … what if it's still all a trial?"

Teresa shook her head adamantly. "The backdoor plan was always in place, remember? Plus, with all the business about trying to cut your head apart … of course, it could all be deliberate, a plan to convince us we're safe, but … "

Thomas's gut told him they were safe, but he knew better than to trust his gut. "Well, with the hundreds of cities falling across the world and all … it can't be a coincidence. WICKED must have really run out of resources and implemented the backdoor plan. Decided that spreading a cure is basically impossible. Besides, they have a vaccine now, but they consider it to be impossible to spread."

"And besides, even if it _was_ all still a trial, what could we do? It's best we co-operate if there's still a chance of finding a cure."

"Yeah. But there's no chance of finding a cure now, anyway. At least not with the immunes. If it's still a trial, it just means Rat Man and Co. have gone completely bonkers."

Teresa laughed a little. "And if it isn't a trial, we can't risk destroying the only chance our species has."

Something in her words told Thomas about the stakes at hand. The burden of saving the human race … everything, almost exclusively in _his_ hands. The thought frightened him. Besides during the two months he had his memories wiped, he had almost never done something that went against his simple utilitarian morality. And now, sticking to the same was more important than ever. He remembered the time, a few weeks before getting sent into the Maze, when he had drugged Teresa and tried to break her out of WICKED, to ensure she would be safe. That was disturbingly selfish and immoral of him, he knew it. If Teresa hadn't woken up and punched him in the face …

"What are you thinking about?" Teresa asked, snapping him out of his thoughts. "You just clicked out of reality. Not a good thing to do when sitting on the edge of a cliff."

"Yeah, sorry. It's just that … I feel overwhelmed. All these responsibilities in our hands … " he trailed off. "I'm actually surprised that everyone accepted a couple of kids as their leaders. Especially those shucks from Group B."

"Why wouldn't they? After all, WICKED says that we're supposedly the cleverest people in the world, thanks to some mutation."

"Gives me a lot of hope for the future of the human race," Thomas said sarcastically.

"I don't get why that sounded sarcastic."

"Me neither."

Teresa leaned her head on Thomas's shoulder and he wrapped an arm around her waist. They sat in silence, enjoying the cool breeze that brushed across their faces.

* * *

He woke up to a faint light filtering through the canopy of a tree. A tree? Where the hell was he? Then he saw Teresa's head rested on his shoulder, sound asleep, and he remembered the previous night, dozing off on the edge of the cliff. _Dozing off?_ he thought. _Crap._

But they weren't on the edge of the cliff. They were a couple of metres inward, leaning on the fence. That's when he found a note in his pocket. He pulled it out and unfolded it. It was slightly smudged, so he had to squint to read it.

 _I found you shanks asleep on the edge of the cliff. How you did that without falling off, no idea._

 _You and your shuck girlfriend would be drowned by now if I hadn't found you and dragged you to safety. AND I had to suffer a punch from stupid sleeping beauty, leading to me falling flat on my butt, which means I have to shower again._

 _Just remember you owe me one, shuckface._

 _Minho._

Thomas snickered lightly as Teresa stirred in her sleep and lifted her head of his shoulder. She tried to speak, but only an incoherent mumble came out. Thomas shoved the note in her face as she grabbed it, squinting to read it.

"Apparently you punched Minho while asleep," Thomas remarked.

"I think he was referring to you."

Thomas lightly slapped her on the head and got to his feet. "Come on, get up, _sleeping beauty_ ," he mocked.

"Shut up."

"Okay, what about _Deedee_?"

Without warning, she launched a hard punch into his knee, startling him, but he caught his balance. "Klunkface," he muttered, but didn't fight back.

"That one's better," she replied as she grabbed her crutches and got to her feet.


	19. Chapter 18

**Author's Note:**

 **This chapter's storyline is inspired from the Thomesa fanfic, "A New Beginning [s/9757998]" by iRiDeScEnT DrReAm.**

::: 1 month later :::

The first two phases of _The Plan_ , as Thomas had so creatively christened it, were completed. Newt was chosen as the Law Minister, or as Minho (and every other Glader) preferred to call it, the Keeper of Law and Order, or Law Keeper for short.

Thomas and Newt had written a Criminal Procedure Code, which Minho had appropriately named the Code for Slinthead Management.

A small but well-equipped police force, also known as The Bagger Force was ready, and an entire 25 square kilometres was CCTV-patrolled. Most thought it was overkill, but Thomas insisted that it would eventually be necessary. There was no proper judicial system in place, so Newt had to take the dual position of Law Keeper and the sole Judge.

The construction _of The International Flare Catastrophe Memorial_ (the term "International" was used to prepare for a time when their civilisation would have expanded into multiple countries, to ensure that the museum remained an international memorial)was complete, and the first floor had been populated with artifacts from the Glade.

Teresa's limp was much better, and she could now walk slowly without her crutches.

They were almost self-sufficient with respect to food, with a multistorey hydroponic farm and a modern meadow (for culturing meat) standing behind the hospital. Electricity was currently obtained from the underground laboratory that apparently ran on solar power.

But they now had, before them, the biggest challenge yet. Silencing the Keeper of the Cooks.

"Frypan, I'm bloody serious. Every lovin' kid in this shuck place has come up to me at least once in the past 3 weeks, boohooing about you and your bloody singing issue," Newt yelled, pacing towards the kitchen from which Frypan's singing radiated, wiping a circle of 20-metre radius around it clean of people.

" _This shucking knife's blade,_

 _Reminds me of the Glade,_

 _And all it's beetle blades!_

 _La-la-da-la-da-da!_

 _La-da-la-la-da-da … "_

"Frypan, for the last bloody time, shut up!"

" _Oh, look look look look look,_

 _If you put me on the hook,_

 _You'll have no-one to cook,_

 _To write a shuck cook-book._ "

"Frypan … "

" _So let me cook in peace,_

 _Oh, cutting up green peas,_

 _For every single piece,_

 _Is singing with the bees,_

 _La-da-da-la-la-da …_ "

"That bloody shank's a lost cause." Newt muttered as he returned from the kitchen, shoulders slumped in defeat. He pointed to Thomas, who stood between Minho and Teresa with a wide smirk on his face. "Tommy, we need to draft a bill on noise pollution."

"Environmental protection is Phase-IX. We still have time. Besides, didn't you hear him?

 _If you put him on the hook,_

 _You'll have no-one to cook,_

 _To write a shuck cook-book._ "

"Tommy, your singing is not much better, and the last thing we need here is another bloody music expert like Gally."

As if summoned by his name, Gally inexplicably appeared next to the kitchen, yelling at Frypan. "That's a shuck abuse of the Iambic pentameter!"

Thomas smirked. "Anyway, time to commence our next phase. Exploration."

* * *

Thomas was first to speak in the Gathering. "90 people already have a job including the Sloppers, the Cooks, the Baggers, the Track-hoes, and the Builders. The Builders have enough people for the electricity generation stuff, but if we want them to make a Map Room and stuff, they're gonna need more people. So we give them 30 more people, and there'll be about 30 people left for exploration.

Here's my plan - we'll divide the Explorers into five groups of six, one group for each of the North, South, West, North-West, and South-West. We'll keep the sea in the East for later. We'll carry paper with us to make maps, because this is a shuck island, not a simple Maze that we can map after coming back home."

"Okay, but I don't wanna be called an _Explorer_ ," Minho argued. "Sounds like some shuck browser from the shuck 21st century. Like _Gatherer_ wasn't shucked enough. I wanna be called a–"

"Firefox? That was a shucking awesome browser," Thomas interrupted. "Or maybe Chrome? Nah, that was klunk. How about Konqueror? At least it sounds cool."

"Runner."

"Fine."

"How are we going to explore this place if we plan to come back here every evening?" Teresa asked. "This place must be huge."

"Whoever said anything about coming back every evening? We'll pack our supplies and take off, maybe explore for a week or so."

"A week?" Newt asked. "We don't need to explore the whole of bloody Antarctica, just the nearby places for infrastructure planning and stuff."

Thomas shrugged. "Fine, then 4 days. Two and a half days to explore, one and a half to return."

The other three nodded in agreement before dispersing off.

"I wish I could join you guys in exploring, but my shuck limp doesn't let me," Teresa complained, making Thomas feel guilty all over again. "Actually, the crutches were better than this, Tom. I didn't need someone else's support to walk fast."

Thomas rolled his eyes. "Just a few weeks, then you'll be back to normal. Look how much better you are now, compared to five weeks ago." He paused, then spoke in a low voice. "You really shouldn't have saved me."

"Not that again," Teresa rolled her eyes, then slugged him on the arm. "I don't regret it, Tom. Not one bit."

* * *

Later that day, they revisited the map showing the location of Vaidehi before the solar flares, and figured out that the South is also pretty much covered by sea, and the West was vast enough to need two groups to explore it. The landscape of the Northern side looked _just bloody weird_ , as Newt put it, so Thomas and Minho would be in the group that explored the North, just in case of any danger.

Gally insisted on being a Runner, saying that he might be necessary for infrastructure planning, and that there was an equally capable person for leading the builders, and Thomas eventually gave in.

Newt took it upon himself to play the Vaidehite equivalent of his previous role of Glade mother, or as Minho called it, Mrs Vaidehi, to take care of the supplies for the mission.

Newt flagged the Runners off. "Alright, so like I said, Group A will explore the North side, Group B will explore the North-West, Group C and D, the West, and Group E will explore the South-West. Day after tomorrow, at noon, stop exploring and turn back. Make sure to make good maps on your way there, for the sake of the exploration, and also to save yourself."

"Sounds a shuck lot like what Rat Man said," Minho murmured, rolling his eyes.

Teresa looked at Group A. There were six members: Thomas, Minho, Gally, Brenda, Jorge, and a Vaidehite named Annabelle. Thomas held a pistol in the straps of his pack, but also held a sharp dagger that could be extended into a long knife, almost a small sword.

 _I have a bad feeling about this,_ Teresa thought to him.

 _Huh? About exploring Vaidehi? It's safe._

 _Promise me you won't do anything dangerous._

 _Me? Do something dangerous? Come on, I've always been obsessed with safety!_

 _Right… Running into the Maze at night, real safe you were, dancing with the Grievers. And getting yourself stung on purpose. Oh, please._

 _There was nothing dangerous in the second one. Whatever it is, it isn't dangerous if it's useful._

 _Fine. But nothing dangerous here is going to be useful. So promise me you won't_ –

 _There's always this telepathic connection, right? You'll probably find out if I end up dead._

 _Shut up._

 _Okay, I'll try not to die. Happy now?_

 _Shut up._

 _Fine, I won't do anything dangerous, I promise._

Teresa sighed. She knew it wasn't possible for Thomas to _not_ do something dangerous. How she wished her limp could be gone and … _Stop_ , she told herself. _Just a few more weeks_.

* * *

"Okay, break!" Minho announced as they reached a clearing. "If you're gonna take a klunk, bury it near the trees so it can be of some use."

It had been two and a half days since they had started off from their base, and it was now time to turn back. They had walked nearly 200 kilometres, finding nothing weird at all. The path was slightly mountainous near the sea, but it was mostly flat land covered with a short shrubbery of forest. They had a set of elaborate maps prepared, although any planning for real infrastructure construction

"So, are we going to return now or what?" Brenda asked. "It's two and a half days, and we have just a bit over half as much time to return."

Thomas wasn't listening to the conversation. His attention was on Gally, who was walking away from the group, slowly walking towards the woods, as if not wanting to attract any attention. Just as Gally disappeared into the woods, Thomas got up from his place and started moving towards him, his sandwich gripped in one hand, and the pistol in the other. He ignored Minho's calls from behind him. _What was Gally doing?_ he thought.

 _Fine, I won't do anything dangerous, I promise._ His own words came back to him, as if taunting him. He pushed the thoughts away. He had to know what Gally was doing. And besides, he wasn't doing anything dangerous. He was just following Gally, which is an absolutely normal thing to do, right?

Just as Thomas passed the threshold into the woods, he finished his sandwich, and gripped his dagger in his other hand.

* * *

"Guess we're continuing, then," Minho sighed. "Hey, where's Gally?"

The four of them looked around, but Gally was nowhere to be found.

"Forget it, _hermano_ ," Jorge said. "He's big enough to take care of himself. Now just let me take a klunk."

"Klunk?" Brenda asked, puzzled. Minho and Brenda burst into laughter as Jorge's cheeks turned red in embarassment.

"I don't know, I've been under these shanks' influence for a long time."

"Shank?" Minho asked. "The slang of the Glade shall win over the world!" and he burst out into laughter again.

* * *

It was nearly half an hour since he had begun following Gally. Thomas was surprised by how dense the forest had already become. Gally had been running along the stream in the direction of its current, but Thomas still didn't expect it to get that dense so quickly. Hardly any sunlight filtered through the canopy of the trees.

Gally was just a few metres ahead of him, but seemed oblivious to his presence. Thomas was glad, even though Gally probably wasn't doing anything suspicious.

Each time the stream merged with another, Thomas cut off some tree bark with his dagger and planted it firmly into the soil to mark their route. The stupid shank wouldn't have been able to get back if not for Thomas.

Suddenly, the air turned brighter, with light entering from a clearing ahead, and Gally slowed down to step into the clearing. Thomas gave up all pretense of stealth, crashing through the forest line and into the clearing, but Gally didn't move.

"Should've known you'd be here, shank," Gally said. "Probably should see this."

Thomas stepped forward to stand beside Gally, his dagger still firmly gripped in his hand, although he had stuck his pistol back into the straps of his backpack.

The view before him was breathtaking. A huge lake stood at the foot of the tall cliff they were standing atop, guaranteeing certain death to anyone foolish enough to fall off it. It was surrounded by cliffs on every side, fed by dozens of waterfalls, and with a single outlet, a pristine river that flowed through a gap in the cliff.

"Whoa," Thomas said, his voice barely above a whisper, awestruck at the scene before him. "Almost as good as the Cliff back in the Maze."

"Let's go," Gally said curtly, as he turned to leave. And then his footing slipped.

* * *

"Where could that shank have _gone?_ " Minho muttered as he called for Thomas once again in the forest.

"I told ya, hermano, Gally probably wanted a more private place to pass faeces." Jorge answered.

"I don't care about Gally!" Minho replied, almost yelling.

"Thomas is smart enough," Jorge said nonchalantly. "He'll find his way back. There's no reason to–"

"We're not going back without Thomas!" Minho snapped back. "I told you this before in the Scorch, and I'm telling you again. We're not leaving Thomas."

"Maybe he went downstream, down the river?" Brenda intervened. "It makes sense. None of you have ever seen a waterfall while at WICKED, so he probably hoped to see one downstream?"

"You're a shuck genius!"

* * *

Gally woke up to see Minho's face staring down at him. "Welcome back to the world, shank," he greeted, unsmiling. "Where's Thomas?"

Gally never knew he would cry for Thomas, but he did. Thomas had just saved his life, and there was no way Thomas was alive right now. "I don't know," was all he said, choking back his tears.

"You don't know?" Brenda asked, sounding suspicious of Gally's claim. "He walked right here, didn't he?"

"Let me finish," Gally sighed. "I walked here, hoping to see a waterfall, and Thomas for some reason followed me. Then we turned to leave, and my footing slipped, and Thomas caught me, but we both slipped over. I managed to grab this outcropping of rock, but I passed out. And Thomas … Thomas fell right past me."

"But he could be alive, right?" Brenda replied. "He could have grabbed a ledge like you did?"

"The cliff was steep all the way down," Gally replied. "It was one chance or nothing."

Minho and Brenda looked away, as if accepting that their friend was gone.

"I'm really sorry, guys," Gally said meekly. "I wish I could give you more hope, but … I saw it. He fell past me. There's no way anyone can survive that fall."

"We're still searching for him," Minho said. "The shank survived a night in the Maze, which we all thought was impossible. He can survive this too."

Minho was trying to give himself and all of them hope, but he was failing. There was no way anybody could survive the fall.

* * *

Today was the day. All the groups had returned by now, except for Group A. It was the dead of midnight, and Teresa stood outside the wooden shed, waiting.

She had a horrible, nagging feeling that something had gone horribly wrong. She leaned on the wooden shed, chewing her lip nervously.

 _Tom?_ She called to him for the umpteenth time, but she couldn't feel his presence in her skull. It wasn't because he was dead, she knew it, because she was good enough to tell a telepathic signal from a dead person, from no telepathic signal at all. Teresa tried her best to not let her fear show, but Newt seemed to sense it.

"Maybe they're just exploring further. Who knows what they've found out there," Newt tried to reassure her. "You know, Tommy wanted to make it a week-long project at first. Maybe they'll return tomorrow or the day after."

"They don't have supplies for that," she replied curtly. "Why can't we send a search party?"

"Maybe they found food on the way. Who knows? Let's not go into panic mode when we don't know anything."

Teresa nearly exploded at the comment. "Panic mode?! I'm not panicking, I'm just worried! Even the telepathy is cut off! What the hell is … God, I can't understand how you can act so nonchalant about it."

"I'm not being nonchalant at all," Newt replied calmly. "Tommy and Minho are my friends too, Teresa. I'm worried all right, but we can't just go off searching for them like that. It's only going to make matters worse."

For some reason, that reminded Teresa of what Thomas had once said about Newt's reaction to Minho and Alby not returning before the doors closed. Newt assumed them to be dead, she knew it.

"If you think they're dead, Newt," she whispered, her voice full of warning, "You–"

"Hold on, hold on!" Newt stopped her. "Who said anything about them being dead? You're the one acting like something terrible has happened, when we don't bloody–"

Newt stopped, and Teresa turned to see what had caught his attention: five silhouettes were emerging from the woods. Her hopes lifted when she spotted Minho and Brenda. Until she noticed that there were only five of them. Until she noticed that Thomas was the one missing.

"Where's Thomas?" she yelled, but her voice was quivering in dread of the answer.

The five of them reached them, and the first thing that stood out to Teresa was the grief and pain in Minho's eyes.

Minho took out a dagger and a pistol from his bag, handing it to Teresa. "The last remains of the shank," he muttered solemnly, and took off into the homestead.

Teresa's knees buckled and she fell to the ground. "What … what does that … mean?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

When nobody answered, she got up to her feet and grabbed the nearest two Runners– Jorge and Brenda –by the collar. "What … happened?!" she screamed, her voice raging with lunacy. "Is anybody going to answer me?"

And then she noticed Gally, _sobbing_. Gally crying for Thomas? She caught him by the collar. "You … " she said menacingly. "You were so insistent on being a Runner. What did you _do_? It's all your fault, isn't it?

"Hermana–" Jorge started, but Gally cut him off with a loud sob.

"Yes! It's my fault. He died saving me."

Teresa let go of his collar and collapsed to the ground. So it had been made official. Thomas was dead. Yet, she couldn't accept it. There was no way she could accept it.

* * *

Minho eventually returned and explained the accident to a shocked Teresa and Newt.

"So you didn't find his body, did you?" Teresa asked, her voice steadily rising. "He could very well be alive. And yet you abandoned the search, declared him dead, decided to–"

"They found his blood, Teresa." Newt whispered. "He's …"

He trailed off, but Teresa refused to believe it. She knew how the Swipe would convey a signal of death, it would be as if she would feel a part of her dying, herself. But there _was_ no signal. It felt like the time their telepathy had been cut off in the Scorch and Phase-III. And then she remembered Thomas's words. _You think we're safe now? What if … what if it's still all a trial?_

There was only one way to find out. She jumped to her feet and grabbed Brenda and Jorge by the collars. "You two …" she spoke harshly. "It's still all a shuck trial, isn't it? That's why the telepathy is cut–"

"Hold on, hermana!" Jorge interrupted. "I don't even know what you're talking about. No, it's not a trial, and we're all on the same side."

"Oh, really?" Teresa scoffed. "Then admit it, that the escape from WICKED and all that crap was just a trial. Admit it, will you?"

Brenda and Jorge exchanged a worried glance, then Brenda slowly nodded. "Yeah. I'm sorry. But I can assure you this isn't a trial. WICKED failed, everyone knows this. It's in the news and all."

Teresa turned to Minho. "We need to torture these two shucks and get answers out of them. She just shucking _admitted_ that Denver was just a trial. We need to find out if we're still in a trial, because if we are, then that means that WICKED has gone bonkers. Because it's clear that the immunes cannot help in the mission for finding a cure, whether or not a cure is possible. Maybe they lied to the media that they've failed, just as another variable for _us_."

She collapsed to the ground. "Thomas is alive, I know it. The Swipe sends a telepathic signal for different emotions and all. Death included. I would know if Thomas were dead. But there's _no_ telepathic signal I receive, like it's cut off. The last time I felt it was in the Scorch when…"

She rambled on and on, and when she finished, she noticed that everyone had left, besides Brenda, who kneeled down beside her and placed her hand on Teresa's shoulder.

"Teresa, I … I know how you feel. I've lost people I love too. My dad, trying to protect me when WICKED took me. And … many friends along the way. I never said this, but I loved Thomas, too. I don't think he knew. The first time he pushed me away when I tried to flirt with him in the Scorch, I gave him the excuse that _we're from different places, that's all_ , and I think he believed that crap. I feel just as bad as you do, Teresa."

"No, Brenda. You don't. When I was five, my family abandoned me because their stupid cult thought I was a demon. I met Tom when I was nine, and … we've known each other for seven years, he's the only one I've really had." She wiped her tears away. "But don't worry, he's alive, I know it. You know how the Swipe works, don't you?"

Brenda just stared solemnly at the ground.

"I'm sorry for taking out my anger on you and Jorge," Teresa continued. "I'm losing it, you know. Not from the worry, I _know_ Tom is alive. I don't know why the telepathy has stopped, but it isn't death. Even if he crushed his head under a rock, the telepathy routers will survive. It's just that people keep insisting he's dead, and that drives me nuts."

Brenda nodded, but what she said was "False hope is better than no hope, I guess."


	20. Chapter 19

**Authors' note:**

 **This chapter's storyline is inspired from the Thomesa fanfic, "A New Beginning [s/9757998]" by iRiDeScEnT DrReAm.**

Thomas's first thought when he woke up was _Teresa's going to shucking kill me._

Then, _Where the shuck am I?_

The last thing he remembered was the free rush of falling, then holding his breath underwater. _What the shuck happened?_

He opened his eyes and tried to sit up, but was immediately pushed back by a gentle hand. "Please rest," a monotonous, almost robotic voice spoke. "You have been unconscious for a significant period of time."

Before he could process any of that, the source of the voice revealed itself and called out. "Adopted mother, the visitor is awake." The source of the voice was a thin dark-haired girl, her green eyes showing worry as she scrutinised him. Thomas looked around. He was on a wooden platform, in a small room with wooden walls, with every piece of furniture wooden, and nothing personal to mark it. His head was locked in a metal cage. _What in the world?_

"Where am I?" Thomas asked.

"The Society. My name is Anastasia. We found you lying on the bank of a river a few days ago. Some of the members of the Supreme Council consider you to be a threat to our settlement, and thus you shall have to go through a trial."

"A trial?" Thomas asked, shocked. "Like … WICKED's trials?"

Anastasia looked at him curiously. "No. A judicial trial to ensure that you are not a threat to our settlement. Personally, I do not perceive you as a threat in any way. I mean, what threat could a random teenage kid be to a society of 30 people?"

"Please accept my sincere apologies for the interruption." An authoritative voice entered from behind her. "Please exercise control over your language, Anastasia. In addition, I would like to remind you of the fact that the merits of the possible threat posed by the visitor shall be analysed by the Supreme Council."

Anastasia turned around, her head drooping in embarrassment. "Please accept my sincere apologies, Adopted mother."

"I accept your apology."

The formality of the speech of the members of the society was almost unnerving, if he didn't know better, Thomas would have thought that they were mocking each other.

"My name is Madam Anna," Anastasia's "adopted mother" introduced herself. "Anastasia, I would like to know if you have you obtained the visitor's identity."

"Please accept my sincere apologies, Adopted mother, for I have not" Anastasia answered and turned around to face Thomas.

"Thomas," Thomas blurted out before she could say anything. He couldn't stand to hear one more ounce of formality from these shuck people.

"My greetings, Thomas," Madam Anna smiled for the first time, but it was artificial and plastered. "I would like to know if you possess immunity to the Flare."

"Yeah," Thomas nodded, wondering for the hundredth time where the hell he was, and what the Society wanted from him. "I'm immune."

"The Supreme Council wishes to meet with you."

Thomas nodded, eager to get out of his bed.

He followed Anastasia and Madam Anna to another room, and it wasn't long before Thomas realised that the whole of the Society lived within a large wooden building.

The room reminded him of the first Gathering he had attended back in the Glade. The thirteen members of the Supreme Council were seated across the room, forming a semicircle of chairs, all of them with blank expressions on their faces. They were dressed in attire that put that of Mr Sunglasses to shame.

Thomas quickly shuffled to the seat at the focus of the semicircle, thinking that like in the Glade, it would be reserved for the shank in trouble, but Madam Anna held him back. "The Ultimate seat is reserved for Captain Gally."

Thomas froze. "Gally?"

Madam Anna involuntarily raised an eyebrow, but quickly pulled it back. "I would like to know if you have possess acquaintance of him."

"Well, there are probably many Gally's in existence. The Gally I know is fifteen years old."

Madam Anna held back an involuntary laugh. "Captain Gally is the big shot of the Supreme Council, and is fifty-one years old."

Thomas nodded, wondering: one, about how the Society used words like "big shot", "ultimate", and "captain", sounding completely incompatible their standard formal tone. And two: if he would ever be allowed to sit.

Within a few minutes, Captain Gally entered, almost dancing his way into the room, and took the Ultimate seat, as Madam Anna had called it. He was a fat, podgy man, with beady eyes and no eyebrows, and Thomas could swear he looked something like Vince.

"I hereby commence the thirty-first meeting of the Supreme Council of the Society, centred around the arrival of the visitor," he spoke in a scratchy voice. He pointed to Thomas. "Please reveal your identity."

"My name is Thomas," Thomas replied, not knowing what else was expected.

"I kindly request you to explain how you came to be here."

Thomas almost sighed out loud. It was a long story, and almost completely unbelievable. He started with his early life and how he was taken by WICKED to work for them, then talked about the trials he was sent through, the final escape into Vaidehi, the exploration phase when he fell of the cliff trying to save a friend of his, and swimming to the shore. He didn't name this 'friend of his' - he was wary of the Society and its weird ways, and he was afraid of the reaction they might have to finding out that this friend's name was the same as that of their _Captain_.

Upon the conclusion of the story-telling, Captain Gally spoke again. "And thus I conclude the public defence of the suspect, and commence the private discussion within the Supreme Council of the Society. I thank you for your time, suspect."

And with that, the Supreme Council rose from their chairs and did a rhythmic walk, almost a dance, towards the door and disappeared into the hallway.

The formalities and rituals of the Society were really driving Thomas nuts. He sunk to the floor, only to be stopped by Madam Anna.

"Thomas, I would like you to note that sitting on the floor is forbidden."

Again with the almost-sigh, Thomas stopped himself and rose to his feet, muttering a "sorry".

"I accept your apology, Thomas."

 _I accept your acceptance of my apology_ , Thomas wanted to say, but kept quiet. "Why do I need to wear this helmet?" he asked, turning around.

"The Cage is a symbol of captivity, and indicates that the visitor lies at the mercy of the Supreme Council. It is to ensure the humility of the visitor, as well as a tribute to the authority of the Supreme Council. The Society tends not to exercise significant amounts of formality, however, the Cage has been deemed as a strict necessity in ensuring the honesty of the trials."

 _The Society tends not to exercise significant amounts of formality_ , Thomas thought. _I'd hate to see what you think is a significant amount of formality._ But in typical Thomas-style, all he said was "Huh."

Finally, after what seemed hours of waiting, Captain Gally reappeared with the Supreme Council behind him.

"The Supreme Council has arrived at a decision," he started.

Thomas felt something lodge in his throat. _Calm down,_ he told himself. _If they decide to kill you, you can always escape._ Of course, that didn't do much to comfort him.

"The visitor has been declared innocent." Captain Gally finished. "The Society might benefit from his assistance."

"What … assistance?" Thomas stuttered.

"I believe that you mentioned the discovery of a vaccine for the Flare. You are asked to obtain this vaccine and hand it to the Society."

* * *

Five days. Five days since Minho had revealed the news to a shocked Teresa and Newt. Five days since Teresa had found out about Thomas's supposed 'death'. Five days since the search team had been sent out.

The search team had returned earlier that morning, and reported having found no traces at all of Thomas's 'body'. Teresa worked in the hydroponic farm, but her mind was elsewhere. It was as if something else had inhibited her body, a stranger whom she didn't know. That afternoon, Newt had gently broken the news to her that they're calling off the search and organising a funeral. Teresa tried to tell them to stop grieving like idiots, because she knew very well that Thomas was alive.

For the fifth time this week, she sat down on the steps leading to the canteen, immersed in her own thoughts. All she felt was numbness, and a huge void where Thomas's presence would usually be in her skull.

And then she saw it. A figure crouched down before her, with a sheepish smile she had waited for days to see. She blinked twice, tried to check if she was hallucinating, but it didn't go away.

It was him. It was Tom.

Her eyes glazed over, and she wanted to just launch herself into his arms, but she didn't. Instead, with all her might, she connected her hands with his shoulders, shoving him, sending him tumbling away.

She rose to her feet and walked towards him as he scooted away from her, looking slightly panicked and slightly amused.

"You said you won't do anything dangerous," she hissed. "What did you do?"

"I– I … I don't … "

She reached down and yanked him by his collar, up to his feet. "You fell. Off. A. Cliff!"

"I'm sorry, I'll–"

"You're the shuckiest shuck-faced shuck to have ever lived!"

"Okay," he said, trying his best to look calm. "I–"

"Do you know? They're having a shuck funeral for you out there!"

"They're what?" Thomas's eyes gleamed with mischief. "Let me go, please. I'll explain everything."

She let him go, resisting the urge to punch him in the face … wait, why was he wearing a helmet?

Thomas snapped her out of her thoughts. "Where's the funeral?"

"No, you will _not_ prank them," she said with conviction. Things were weird enough already.

"It will be so much fun," he pleaded like an eight-year old kid, but it was too late. Minho, Newt and Frypan came out of the homestead, their eyes widening at the sight of Thomas.

"How the … " Newt muttered in disbelief.

"I've been shucked and gone to heaven, it's Thomas!" Minho said in disbelief.

"Call off the funeral! Tommy's bloody alive!" Newt called out.

"As alive and ugly as ever!" Frypan added.

And that's when Teresa noticed the green-eyed girl standing next to the kitchen, looking like she was trying hard not to laugh.

"Hi, I'm–" She stopped, eyeing Teresa from head to toe, her pupils dilating in shock. " _Deedee?_ "

 **Author's note:**

 **I know that an open-bottom Faraday's cage doesn't work. Let's just say there were some metal fibres hanging out of the cage and wrapping themselves around Thomas's body somehow.**


	21. Chapter 20

**Authors' note:**

 **This chapter's storyline is inspired from the Thomesa fanfic, "A New Beginning [s/9757998]" by iRiDeScEnT DrReAm.**

Teresa took a step back, shocked. And then she squinted at the girl. The colour of her hair, her facial features, her voice ... she seemed like a weaker version of herself with green eyes instead of blue. Teresa's eyes widened at the realisation of whom she was. Her sister was Immune!

* * *

Thomas snapped his fingers in front of Teresa's eyes. "Hello? Calling Teresa? What's going on?"

"Deedee?" Anastasia repeated her question.

Teresa slowly nodded, and before the question could form in her mouth, Anastasia was before her, squeezing her tightly.

The moment was interrupted, of course, by Minho. "Sorry to break your happy little reunion in there, but can you tell us what the shuckin' hell is going on?"

"Yeah," Thomas and Newt said simultaneously. "Let me guess, you two are long-lost sisters?" They exchanged a shocked glance at the coincidence.

Teresa broke away from the hug. "Yeah," she said. "That's right."

The four boys exchanged a confused glance. "Well," Thomas and Newt started, again exchanging a surprised glance, "This is unexpected."

"Shuck it, Newt!" Thomas yelled, and Newt yelled at the same time, "Shuck it, Tommy!"

Thomas turned to Teresa. "Since when did you have a sister?"

"I've always had one," she replied. "My parents took her away from me because I was immune, so they thought I'm some kind of a demon. Apparently, Ana is immune, too, but my parents didn't know that."

Frypan coughed. Minho shook his head. Thomas and Newt blinked rapidly, again in an unnerving synchrony.

"Anyway," Thomas said, breaking the silence. "Anastasia, I think you should tell them. About the other immunes."

"The other immunes?" Newt asked, baffled. "There are other people out here?"

"Yeah, we've been here since four years. Mostly those of us whom WICKED rejected for the trials," Anastasia stared at Newt with a strange gaze, eyes quickly darting away when he returned it. Teresa eyed her suspiciously, but said nothing.

"And Chancellor Paige never told us about you?" Newt asked in disbelief.

"Apparently not," Anastasia said, looking as bored as humanly possible. "Can we go inside now?"

Newt nodded and followed her into the Gathering shed, Minho and Frypan on his heels. Thomas turned to move, but Teresa caught his arm.

* * *

"What actually happened out there?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest.

Thomas sighed. He didn't really have much in his defence. "I tried to save Gally, but the ground was slipperier – is that a word? – than I expected, and we both slipped over the cliff. Gally caught a ledge, and I slowed myself down by dragging my dagger across the cliff, until I was slow enough to hit the water safely. It was impossible to climb back up against the waterfall, so I swam into the river and climbed onto the bank and passed out." He paused. "I suppose someone found me."

Teresa stared at him blankly, her expression unreadable.

"It was a lot of luck," he said sheepishly, only to realise that was the worst thing he could have possibly said for his survival. "Sorry."

When she didn't attack him, he decided to pull off the helmet. He wasn't allowed to remove it back in the Society, and didn't dare remove it after returning to their base, afraid of getting permanent brain damage from Teresa.

"What about the blood?" Teresa asked. "Minho said they found your blood."

"I scraped my knee a bit," Thomas replied, pointing to the wound on his knee.

Without warning, she launched herself into his arms, and he wrapped his arms around her, pressing her face close to his chest.

"Like I said, the worst thing that could happen to us here is getting eaten by a wild animal or falling off a cliff. I wanted to return the moment I woke up, but the Society – that's what those shanks call themselves – wouldn't let me go until they completed some of their shuck rituals, and it was a two-day trek back here, _plus_ your shuck sister, who insisted on accompanying me, had a limp and couldn't walk fast, making it a three-day trek and–"

He rambled on and on, but Teresa cut him off with a hand to his mouth. "Tom," she said, "Seriously, shut up."

* * *

Thomas and Teresa arrived a few minutes late to the Gathering, making Minho snicker endlessly. _Must have been making out again_ , Newt thought.

Somehow, something reminded him of Anastasia. He couldn't get rid of the feeling that he'd _seen her_ somewhere. It wasn't in the same way that Gally or Ben or Alby had _seen_ Tommy and Teresa back in the Glade – no, not at all. His eyes searched the said girl, groaning inwardly when he realised how that could be taken. And suddenly, a piece of his memory came flashing back to him.

* * *

Newt is nearing fifteen. He's outside a WICKED meeting room, spying on a conversation.

"Subject B13 will have to be replaced. She has shown strong affection for Subject A5," an authoritative voice speaks. Newt leans closer to the window to make out a middle-aged man speaking. Is he the Chancellor?

"Their relationship could provide some bonus patterns," a much younger, somewhat high-pitched voice says. The voice belonged to Thomas, although it is significantly different than the voice the dreaming Newt knows.

"Like what?" The first voice asks.

"I can't say for sure, but maybe in the case of the Betrayal scenario, it would be interesting to see the internal conflict against the amygdala in the killzone."

The middle-aged man is speaking again. "We need rational decisions from A5, he shows potential to be a leader _. Especially_ in the case of the betrayal scenario. We can't have his responses … _affected_ by his emotions."

"I really don't understand how people's actions can be affected by their emotions," Thomas mutters.

Newt nearly smirks out loud. That was typical Thomas, excellent at separating his emotions from his actions, and unable to understand the inability of others to do that.

"Oh, please," Teresa says. "Did you forget that your natural psychology also has a heavy tint towards self-interest? Just because WICKED's lessons made you a better person doesn't mean you're intrinsically one."

Newt always had a hard time understanding how emotions had anything to do with self-interest. Thomas had once given him a long lecture about it, and claimed that sacrificing yourself to save someone else could very well be a selfish act, but Newt couldn't understand it.

"Just one point below you, idiot," Thomas says. "Anyway, getting back to the point, no interesting response is really expected from A5 in the case of a betrayal scenario. We're talking about replacing an excellent candidate for the sake of a single possibly interesting response that isn't even planned. If we do miss a response, we can always arrange a new variable. It's the standard protocol. My vote is against."

Teresa speaks next. "I agree with Tom. And I'm also interested in the patterns that might be observed in case of the betrayal scenario. It's unlikely, but I think it would be useful if it works. My vote goes against."

Then Rachel, Aris, and the rest of the various members of the meeting take their vote, and the Chancellor concludes the meeting. "So the board has decided to replace Subject B5 with reserve B5I. Ronald, write that down," he directs.

Thomas grumbles something over the noise, and _Ronald_ , who's apparently a sort of secretary for the meetings, mutters an acknowledgement.

Newt slowly shrinks away from the meeting room as the Chancellor calls for dismissal. _Ana's gonna have to go?_ he thinks. _Will she be safer there than in the Trials?_

* * *

"Thomas," he says. "I heard the meeting. Ana's going to be sent away, isn't it? Well, Jane, as WICKED named her."

Thomas slowly nods. "I'm really sorry, Newt. I tried what I could. I think it's a stupid move. I doubt even the possibility that … " He stops himself, as if he had spoken too much. "Don't worry about Jane, she'll be safe. They'll be sending her to a safe place. It's a … Look, I can't tell you much, but all I can say is that she'll be safe. Wherever she'll be, it's … the worst thing that could happen to her is getting eaten by a wild animal or falling off a cliff."

Newt looks up, shocked, but Thomas has a big grin on his face, calming Newt down. As if he were finding out the world were okay again. "Man, I wish I had psychic powers like you guys," he says.

It elicits a weak laugh from Thomas. "What's up with you lately? You haven't used your trademark words in a while."

"Bloody hell, Tommy," Newt grins weakly. "There, happy now?"

* * *

Anastasia looks at him in the eyes and talks, her tone laced with urgency. "Newt, I have to go. I've failed the test, they're sending me away."

"I know," Newt replies weakly. "I heard. And it's all because of me. They didn't want my responses to be clouded by emotions, whatever that means."

Anastasia nods. "Yeah. Don't blame yourself for it."

"At least you'll be safe," Newt answers, but it comes out flat.

They stand in silence for a minute, before Anastasia turns to leave. Newt reaches out to grab her by the wrist, an involuntary reaction. "Will I ever see you again?"

"I hope so," she says, her eyes glazed over slightly. "What will I ever do without my best friend?"

"Best friends?" Newt asks softly, moving a bit closer to her. "Is that all we are, Ana? Best friends?"

She bites her lip and looks up at him. "What are we then?"

He presses his lips to hers.

* * *

"Newt? Wake up, shuckface!"

He woke up to find that he had fainted right on his chair. "Oh, sorry, I–" He froze. The last time, when Thomas had seen a memory dream, he was speaking stuff out from his dream. And Anastasia looked like she would rather be anywhere but here right now. "Did I … say something?"

"Huh? Yeah, you did." Minho replied. "You were spouting gibberish throughout."

"What … what did you hear?"

Minho raised an eyebrow suspiciously. "You said something like _best friends_ ," Newt felt mortified upon hearing that. "You repeated that twice," Minho continued, and Newt felt a pang of relief in his chest. "And then you said something like _see you again_ , and _Tommy. There, happy now?_ Then there was a mention of _psychic powers_. I don't even want to know what that was about."

Newt nodded, relieved.

"Why all the interest?" Thomas asked.

"Shank probably said something … embarrassing," Frypan snickered.

"Alright," Minho interjected, "We were supposed to have a Gathering right now, if any of you remember, but thanks to Mr Daydreamer over here," he lightly slapped Newt on the head, "We're quite delayed, and I think we should postpone the Gathering," he raised his eyebrows at Thomas, who nodded. "Yeah, we should have a night's rest."

Anastasia shuffled towards the door of the shed, determinedly not looking at Newt. He reached out to grab her wrist, involuntarily, just like he had done in the memory.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" he asked, his voice barely audible. "Alone?"

Anastasia hesitated, then quickly nodded.

Her sister eyed the two suspiciously, but said nothing.

Anastasia grabbed Newt by the wrist, pulling him away.

* * *

That left Thomas alone in the shed with Teresa and Minho.

"What's going on between those two?" Teresa asked, sounding slightly amused.

Thomas remembered the look of recognition that had flashed Anastasia's face when he had mentioned that Newt would know the details of the vaccine. "I think they knew each other back at WICKED. Newt had a friend named Jane, who rebelliously called herself by her former name, Ana. Subject B13. She was rejected from the trials for showing affection for Newt."

"How do you know that?" Teresa asked curiously. "We weren't allowed to meet anyone. And the originals of Groups A and B weren't allowed to intermix since they turned eleven."

"Yeah, but two shanks did, secretly. Newt and Ben. And Newt secretly kept meeting Anastasia, too."

"Wait a second, so you knew my sister was there at WICKED?"

"No," Thomas shook his head. "We never told each other the details of our lives before WICKED, remember? I didn't even know you _had_ a sister."

"Man, that shank owes me," Minho said, smirking. "I covered up for him by coughing when he said embarrassing stuff in his dream."

"So, he did?" Thomas asked. "What did he say?"

"I quote. _Best friends? Is that all we are, Ana? Best friends?_ Unquote." Minho snickered. After a short pause, he continued: "Hey, are brothers Thomas and Newt brothers? They were talking in synchrony, and then the similar taste in girls."

Thomas felt his cheeks redden slightly at the last one, but quickly covered it up by talking. "Are you two identical?" he asked Teresa.

"Yeah," Teresa replied, nodding. "But I guess we've grown up to look different."

* * *

"What is it?" Anastasia asked, her arms crossed, her posture defensive.

"I saw you," Newt answered, taking a deep breath. "In the memory. At WICKED. We knew each other."

"Yes, I would say we were acquainted," she replied curtly, and Newt suppressed a laugh.

"Acquainted? We were good friends, Ana."

"Yes," she said, her response carefully controlled. "You could say that."

"We were best friends, weren't we?"

Anastasia looked as if she were about to regret what she was about to do next. "Yes," she finally said. "What do you want?"

"Admit it already, will you?" Newt answered. "We bloody loved each other."

Anastasia rolled her eyes slightly. Newt would have thought that she didn't intend to respond, when she said: "You're not the same Newt," it came out as a bare whisper. "WICKED took that away from you. Away from me."

Newt thought for a moment before he spoke. "I eventually got my memories back, Ana," Anastasia's eyes shot up at that. "It's just that the Swipe is not fully dissolved yet. Some memories are yet to return–"

Anastasia cut him off. "So I'm apparently not important enough for you to–"

Newt almost laughed at hearing that, and cut her off. "It's the other way around, Ana. The memories you subconsciously dedicate the most willpower into remembering are the ones that the Swipe suppresses most strongly, and will take the longest to return. That's why I wanted to talk to you. I realised our love must have been pretty strong if the Swipe suppressed it that badly. I already knew I had a girlfriend, which means that wasn't the important part. The important part was you. Your _identity_. I wanted most to remember you. And I know I had remembered the least significant times we had together in that memory, and that makes me wonder what our most significant times could have been, that the Swipe still suppresses."

Newt realised that he was sounding downright sappy, so he stopped. He noticed that Anastasia's green eyes were slightly glazed over, just like they had in the memory.

"Why do you have to do this, Newt?" she asked.

"Do what?" Newt asked, confused.

"This. Appear out of the blue and remember me, right when I come to terms with the fact that I'll never get _you_ back. Especially when I live in a stupid community like the Society."

Before Newt could form a response, she ran into him, pressing her face to his chest.

But he pulled away, pushing her away by the shoulders. She looked up at him, puzzled, and he spoke. "I still don't know you so well. Let's wait a little, shall we?"

Anastasia smiled and nodded. "Fine."

* * *

Minho released a low snicker. "You want to interrupt them, or shall I?"

"Interrupt them?" Thomas asked. "I thought you just wanted to confirm the guess."

"Dude, it's going to be fun!"

Teresa shook her head vehemently. "No, they look cute together."

"Well, that's creepy," Thomas mused. "But yeah, the only shank I'll consider interrupting is this one," he punched Minho in the arm, "Sweet revenge."

Minho snickered. "Don't forget I saved you and your girlfriend from falling off the cliff."

Thomas rolled his eyes. "We've saved one another's lives enough. No wonder we're having these stupid conversations, now that we're safe."

Teresa shoved him in the chest. "Well, considering the fact that you fell off a _cliff_ , I wouldn't say we're all that safe."

"Where's Gally, anyway?" Thomas asked. "He's welcome."

* * *

Anastasia rambled on and on about the Society and its bloody stupidities, and Newt felt himself dozing off. He didn't care too much about the Society. It was clear that it was a lost cause, and would have no part in repopulating the world, because well, reproduction was prohibited there. But the thing that really stood out to Newt was the name of their leader - Captain _Gally_? Bloody–

"AHEM!" A voice snapped Newt out of his daze, and both of them spun around to see Minho standing there, his arms folded and his expression a giant smirk.

"What?" Newt snapped, an involuntary reaction.

"My sincere apologies," Minho bowed.

"I accept your apology," Anastasia said, immediately cringing. "Sorry, just used to doing that back at the Society. I meant to ask – what's your problem?"

Minho chuckled. "I had a … pressing question to ask you."

Anastasia raised her eyebrows, but Newt rolled his eyes. He knew Minho well enough to realise that the shank was trying to get an opportunity to make a ridiculous joke.

"Yes, yes … " Minho looked as if he were collecting his thoughts. He pointed at Anastasia. "Did your parents catch the Flare before you were named? Because, seriously, like _Deedee_ wasn't bad enough, they had to name their other daughter after a numbing agent? _Anesthesia_?"

And with that, he was gone.


	22. Chapter 21

::: 1 month later :::

"–now this place looks like a shucking abandoned city," Minho was saying, and Thomas agreed, but couldn't care less.

They had spent the past two months building the infrastructure of a relatively large town, albeit almost completely uninhabited. The place was electrified and had water supply (and the method of stealing buildings through the Flat Trans had been very successful), and mobile data towers provided Netblock access. Aris and Rachel were the only programmers for the government's digital systems. Anastasia decided to stay at Vaidehi, claiming that the Society celebrated missing children. She took a job of teaching the younger children, a temporary alternative to a full-fledged educational complex.

"What's next, Tommy?" Newt asked. "Smuggle a bloody space station and send some people to the moon?"

Minho snickered. "Or maybe a hadron collider? Obviously a basic necessity for repopulating the world."

"Uh-huh," Thomas tried not to think about what Minho probably meant by that. "Where's Teresa? We need to have a Gathering."

"She's running around the forest for no apparent reason," Newt shrugged. "At least that's what Ana told me."

Thomas guessed she was just happy to be able to walk and run again, her limp now basically healed.

"Alright," Thomas replied. "I'll go get her. You shanks go sit in the shed." And with that, he took off to look for Teresa.

* * *

"We've been delayed enough thanks to Ms Forest Runner," Minho grunted. "Get talking, Thomas."

"Right," Thomas started. "We can already see the drop in productivity levels–"

"Exactly, people are engaging in unproductive tasks like running around the forest," Minho said deadpan.

Thomas sighed. "As I was saying, it's obvious that we can no longer make use of authority to make people work. The best threat we can come up with is no food from Frypan's, which they can live with, and we can't possibly punish people for not working."

"Why not?" Newt asked. "We did it in the bloody Glade."

"This is not the Glade. There was no way you could escape the Glade. People can leave this place if you implement draconian rules."

"There was nothing draconian about the Glade."

Thomas sighed. "Sometimes I forget how long you've lived under those stupid rules," he murmured. "It was appropriate in the Glade. We can't live so savagely here. You guys saw three banishings. I saw what happened to them. Through the beetle blades." He hated reminding his friends about his role at WICKED, although he didn't regret it himself anymore.

"There's nothing draconian about the Glade," Newt repeated.

"Look, Newt!" Thomas yelled. "You've seen our Code for Slinthead Management. We don't shucking punish people for not working. We incentivise them for working. Otherwise, they're just going to run away and then we can shuck all our dreams of saving the shucking human race."

"So you're saying we should go to Phase-VII first? Economic development?" Teresa asked, the first she had spoken since the start of the Gathering.

"No," Thomas replied. "I'm just saying we finish off Phase-VI today."

"Hoping it would not be a spectacular failure like Phase-V," Teresa muttered.

"Phase-VI is the buggin' political system, right?" Newt interjected. "Alright, Tommy. You're our bloody Prime Minister. Get going."

Thomas rolled his eyes. "I would prefer a more shanky term. Like Prime Keeper."

"Well, we just called Alby the leader back in the Glade, but I guess you don't like that."

"Admiral Alby," Minho pointed out. "So, what are your shocking plans for us all, Admiral Thomas?"

"I find Minister Minho to be a funnier one," Thomas murmured, finding himself surprised when Teresa and Newt roared with laughter at the pathetic attempt at a joke.

"Anyway, so here goes. Teresa, you're Keeper of Finance, as well as second-in-command, which means you take my place if I fall off a cliff again." Teresa flinched violently and glared at him when he said that. He continued, "Newt, you're Keeper of Law, and third-in-command. I'll take External Affairs for myself, but my main role will be as Prime Keeper. Under External Affairs, Minho will manage the Department of Defence."

"It's not fair," Minho complained. "You guys get ministries while I get a freakin' _department_. Anyone remembers I was the shuckin' Keeper of the Runners back in the Glade? And anyone remembers my tattoo?"

Thomas and Teresa flinched simultaneously upon the mention of tattoos, and Newt didn't look too happy, either, being reminded that he was a control subject.

Thomas quickly covered up his change of mood. "Phase-X. World Domination. Have fun that day, shank," he snickered. "You have a tough job, trust me. Much tougher than the rest."

He turned to Teresa. "You, too. I selected you for Finance because you're one point higher than me in WICKED's natural utilitarian test. Of course, I score just as high as you in the effective utility test, but it means you can still take tough decisions without feeling so bad about it. You've got a Scorch of a tough job, implementing a monetary system, creating a reserve bank, preparing a fiscal policy, privatising existing state-owned corporations, implementing license systems for corporations, a land acquisition system, some basic environmental stuff … you know it as well as I do.

Newt - your job is a bit relaxed for the time being, but you've still got a Constitution to write out, and you'll fix the Code for Slinthead Management to develop a Bail and Fine system once Teresa's done fixing the economy. And you'll eventually implement a judicial system when we gather enough Immunes for our little settlement to become a city-state. Like, a population of about 10,000 to 20,000."

Minho stared blankly at him. "Well, shuck me," he whispered. "I didn't understand half of that klunk. What the Scorch is a fiscal policy?"

Thomas ignored him. "For now, that's all is important. When the time comes, we'll have an environment ministry too. Also, we'll get Gally to be the Keeper of Infrastructure–"

"GALLY?" Minho exploded.

Thomas continued to ignore him. "Oh, and this is cool. I was searching some stuff, and guess what? The shuckin' HRD minister of the U.K. is here with us." He was referring to the woman whom he had asked to stay behind the Flat Trans to ensure everyone gets through.

"What the shuck is an HRD minister?" Minho asked.

"Human Resources and Development," Thomas curtly replied. "Education and stuff."

A knock on the door caught Thomas's attention–he turned to see who it was. Chuck stood there, looking like he had just been chased by a Crank.

"The sun," he said. "It's gone."

"What?" Thomas stood up from his chair. _No,_ he thought. _It couldn't be. It couldn't be another trial._

Chuck's voice quivered. "It's nearly noon, and the sun is _not there_. But there's still some light. Where's it coming from, Thomas?"

Thomas almost laughed in relief. "Chuck," he said. "We live in shucking Antarctica. And it's mid-year. Winter. June 21. Of course there's no daytime today. Shuck, it's freezing cold."

He heard some laughs from behind him, and Chuck's face gained colour. And then it went pale again, and he let out a sharp shriek, staring at one point on the ground.

"What happened?" Newt asked, jumping to his feet to join Thomas.

Chuck didn't look up, and pointed at the same spot on the ground. "Griever," he said, tremor filling his voice again. "Baby Griever."

"Chuck, you're hallu–" he started, then stopped when he saw what had caught the younger boy's attention. He walked over to Chuck and crouched down beside the _baby Griever_.

"Hey, infant griever," he said, and then his voice turned into a loud whisper. "You're Dad's the Defence Minister now. Minister Minho, we call him."

Chuck's face had paled with horror. "Thomas … " he said. "Get away from it."

Thomas rolled his eyes and got to his feet. "Ever heard of a spider, Chuckie?"

* * *

Later that day, Thomas somehow ended up talking with Newt about the state of the Code for Slinthead Management and how it's somewhat dangerous without a bail system, which can't be implemented without the phase of the economy.

Before he realised it, he crashed into a tree, face-first. "Shuck," he whispered, rubbing the sore spot on his nose.

"Did you hear that?" Newt whispered.

"What? Knocking my head on the tree?" Thomas asked. "Yeah, I heard that all right."

Newt shushed him, pointing to a wooden shed behind the tree. They tiptoed their way over and leaned their ears against the wall of the shed. There were whispers, and Thomas felt his heart stop. What if they were people from WICKED? What if they were Cranks? Or people from the Right Arm? He pressed his ear closer.

He almost laughed out loud when he heard the actual contents of the conversation.

A feminine but almost husky voice spoke. "Kiss me. If you've ever been my friend, kiss me."

"That was just bloody weird," Newt whispered, and Thomas nodded, wanting to hear the ridiculous conversation for some reason.

The same voice continued. "I love you! I always loved you!" Thomas realised the voice was Brenda's.

"Brenda … " A stern, almost fuming voice sounded, and Thomas immediately recognised it as Minho's.

"Kiss me, you shuck coward," Brenda continued.

"How the Scorch does Brenda know about … " Newt asked, and Thomas shrugged in response. "No idea."

"Brenda, just … " Minho replied, audibly fuming with rage.

"Do it!"

"Kiss me or I'll kiss you. Kiss me! Do it!"

"This is creeping me out," Newt whispered, and Thomas nodded. "I've got a feeling Minho's gonna have to be sued under Section 10AI. Physical assault," Newt said. Thomas smirked. "I've got a feeling it's going to be Section 10BII. Murder."

"Please, Minho. Please," Brenda continued.

And then a resounding crash sounded, followed by a high-pitched yelp from Brenda.

"I think she's dead," Newt said, nodding towards the shed.

"So 10BII?" Thomas asked.

And then Minho was speaking again. "Don't you ever, ever insult my friends that way again."

"I wasn't insulting anyone!" Brenda shrieked.

"Alright, so she's alive, then," Newt murmured. Thomas nodded. "Yeah, it's just Section 10AI."

"Oh yeah?" Minho asked Brenda. "You know what? You're psycho enough when you _aren't_ pretending to be a Crank. Newt was remarkably rational even when he _had_ gone Crank. So don't you dare try to insult him–"

"Cool down!" Brenda yelled. "I wasn't insulting _anybody_."

"Shut your shuck face," Minho said, then fumed and walked off. Thomas and Newt quickly ran over to catch up with him.

"Minho!" Newt shouted. "That was bloody physical assault. Section 10AI of the Code for Slinthead Management. 15 days in the Slammer."

Minho squinched up his eyes and pulled his head back, apparently baffled by Newt's statement. "She was _insulting_ you."

"So? She's got her right to free speech. And besides, I don't think she meant to insult anyone."

"I don't shuckin' care. Plus, she threatened to kiss me. Doesn't that invoke my right to self-defence?"

"He's got a point," Thomas said. Newt just nodded.

Minho stormed off, leading Newt to sigh. He leaned into whisper something into Thomas's ear.

* * *

"I'll have no part in this," Thomas said, shaking his head.

Newt grinned. "You don't need to have a part in this. I know that shank well enough. He's not gonna let himself lose in Truth or Dare. And Brenda won't let the opportunity pass."

"You're ridiculous."

* * *

Newt had called for a bonfire like the ones back in the Glade, the Gladefire, as Thomas called it. Whatever WICKED might have meant by _The Glue_ , to the Gladers, Newt was always the one who glued them together. Apart from the Gladers and Squarers, only Jorge, Brenda, and Anastasia were allowed to attend the bonfire. The standard rituals of the Gladefire, of course, included a game of Truth or Dare.

Newt grinned wickedly at Thomas, nodding towards Minho, before commencing the game. "Alright, shanks, I go first. Gally, truth or dare?"

"Dare," Gally replied, looking as if he were suppressing his pride.

"I dare you to kiss either Thomas or Teresa on the cheek."

"I veto this dare!" Thomas and Teresa shouted in unision.

"Don't be such a bloody spoilsport," Newt said, rolling his eyes. "Gally?"

Gally looked between the two options, then finally chose Thomas, who cringed as he wiped off Gally's mucus-stained saliva from his left cheek. "I think Gally's trying to tell us something," Newt said with a laugh. "It's okay, Gally. We're not bloody homophobes over here."

"I chose Thomas so Thomas doesn't get jealous," Gally said, his cheeks bright red.

"Right … " Newt said skeptically, before pointing to Chuck. "You're next, Chuckie."

"Um … " Chuck looked slightly hesitant. "Thomas, truth or dare?"

"Truth," Thomas said. He didn't mind saying the truth.

Chuck's cheeks had flushed a bright red. "I don't know what this means, but Minho asked me to say this, so I will." He paused. "Thomas, have you ever viewed … pornography?" Minho snickered beside him.

"Minho," Thomas said through gritted teeth. "No, I have not. And stop hijacking other people's truth-or-dares, or I'll reveal your little Griever secret."

Teresa laughed. "That's only because we weren't allowed to see through Group B's beetle blades."

"Congratulations, Teresa," Thomas said sarcastically. "You just told everyone what you and Aris used to do with the beetle blades."

Snickers broke out through the crowd, and Teresa and Aris both had their cheeks turn bright red, the latter receiving a glare from Rachel.

And then it was Minho's turn. "Teresa, truth or dare?"

"Truth," Teresa replied.

"Would you kill Thomas or marry Aris?"

"Neither."

"Don't be a smart-aleck. Choose. And this isn't like my Phase-III trial. You need to choose."

"I think you already know my response, then, considering what I had to do in the Scorch. Things are slightly simpler here, because I can choose to divorce Aris the next day."

"So, you'd marry Aris?"

"Yes."

Minho glanced at Thomas, who had a sheepish smile on his face, recalling his irrational reaction to the _betrayal_ back at the Scorch.

The game went on, and then it was Brenda's turn. "Minho, truth or dare?"

Always the daring one, Minho chose the dare.

"Okay," Brenda said with a wicked smile on her face. "Minho, I dare you to kiss me. On the lips. Deeply."

The entire crowd erupted in applause and laughter, as Minho's face turned red in anger and embarassment. "I _hate_ you," he said through gritted teeth as he proceeded to Brenda to kiss her on the lips. Newt flashed a smile of victory.

And then it was Teresa's turn. "Minho, truth or dare?"

Perhaps taken aback by the previous dare he received, Minho chose the truth.

"Did you enjoy kissing Brenda?"

"Yes," Minho said, fuming. "Doesn't mean anything."

Brenda gasped. "Well, it _does_ mean a lot. It's pretty clear."

Somehow, the crowd fell silent as Minho attempted to hide his blush, failing miserably.

And then it was Thomas's turn. "Minho," he asked. "Truth or dare?"

Minho stared at him, faking a look of betrayal. "Thomas, I thought we were friends, man." He wiped a fake tear of his face. "Dare."

"I dare you to wear your underwear on the outside for the rest of the night.

Minho relaxed when he found the dare to be a relatively easy one. He muttered a thanks as he entered the homestead, and came out a few minutes later, wearing his underwear on the outside. He seemed surprised by the smirks he received from the crowd, so Chuck clarified for him. "You peed your pants."

Minho glanced at his underwear and realised Chuck was right. "Shuck," he muttered as he proceeded to the homestead, but Thomas pulled him back. "Too late," he said. "I said rest of the night."

And soon it was Minho's turn. "Thomas, truth or dare?"

"Truth," Thomas replied.

Minho grinned evilly. "If you had to choose … between killing Teresa and killing the rest of the Vaidehites, what would you choose?"

Thomas gulped. He knew very well his answer to the question, but he didn't want to voice it. At all. "Is there an option to kill the shuckface who asked this question?" he asked deadpan.

"Don't be a smart-aleck, Thomas."

Thomas sighed. "I'd kill Teresa." Gasps broke out throughout the crowd, but Teresa was smiling beside him, squeezing his hand. _Good that,_ she thought to him.

"What did you expect, shuckfaces?" Thomas asked. "It would kill me on the inside, but I can't be selfish. I can't choose those whom I care for over those whom I don't. I have to act in a utilitarian fashion, as much as it might destroy me. I would probably spend half my time crying after that for the next five years, but I'm not going to sacrifice the last remaining chance humanity has for the sake of my shuck emotions." _And that's why WICKED was good_ , he finished in his head.

"Good choice," Teresa reassured him. "I wouldn't forgive you if you had chosen the other option." She pressed closer to him and took his hand, squeezing it. "I would choose to kill you, too." He squeezed back, half-smiling.

"Well, you're a weird couple," Minho said. "Hoping for each other to kill you and save the shuck world."

Thomas didn't reply. He knew there was no way to change Minho. Minho would sacrifice himself for the good of his friends or the good of the world, but would never sacrifice those close to him. To Thomas, that was still selfish, because it meant Minho valued _his_ emotions over the good of the world, even if he didn't value himself over the rest of the world.

And then it was Frypan's turn. This time, he decided to choose Thomas. Thomas chose truth, as usual.

"What's the most ridiculous thing you've said?" Frypan asked.

It was supposed to be a trivial, non-embarrassing question, like Frypan couldn't find a better one, but Thomas found himself mortally embarassed.

"Well … " he started. "I've said a lot of ridiculous things … "

"Like _I think they were killed_ , in reference to Frypan and Clint in the Phase-III trials," Newt interrupted.

"Or, _I do love ponies_ ," Minho added.

"Or, _It's obvious who that poor kid should be. Me_ ," Newt continued.

"Or, _How could all this be happening?_ " Minho mimicked.

"Or, _They cut me open and took my brain to study it_ ," Teresa snorted.

Thomas shushed them. "But there's one that defeats them all. _I don't care how many people go crazy and die, I don't care if the whole shuck human race ends. Even if that were the only thing that had to happen to find the cure, I'd still be against it._ "

Everyone besides Brenda blinked or coughed, not understanding what the Scorch he was saying. Teresa, though, seemed to realise what he was referring to, and she covered up to avoid a potentially awkward situation between Thomas and Chuck. "Okay … " she said. "Clint, you're next."

Clint nodded. "Thomas, truth or dare?"

"Truth," Thomas said, subtly rolling his eyes.

"Mr Honest himself, aren't ya?" Minho asked, smirking.

"I don't really know," Clint muttered. "I was hoping you'd choose dare for once. Let's see … I can't think of anything. Let's say … What's the bravest thing you've ever done? Poof."

Thomas buried in his face in his hands. Why did these ridiculous questions have to come to him? "Why do you shuckheads have to ask me these weird questions?" he asked.

"You got the better ones, if you ask me," Newt said.

"That's why I don't ask you."

"Then too bad. Answer it."

Thomas sighed. "I don't really do brave things. Besides the time before I joined WICKED, and the couple of months when I had lost my memories, I do things solely based on utility. Even if the others may consider it to be brave."

"So choose from your bloody toddler time," Newt said with a roll of eyes. "Or your buggin' Swiped time."

Thomas thought about it. The time he got stung by a Griever on purpose? No, he knew he would have died if he didn't do that, and would probably be safe if he did. The time he agreed to have his brain cut open? But that was when his real self was returning, and he did it based on utility. Or did he? The time he agreed to be kidnapped by Teresa and Group B? Nope. Just like the Griever sting, he just rather suffered some pain than let all of them die and then suffer some pain anyway. Plus, Teresa had asked him to trust her. The time when he ran into the Maze before the doors closed? He hadn't yet known that nobody had survived a night in the Maze, then, did he?

After a lot of deliberation, he finally spoke. "Agreeing to have my brain cut open by WICKED, I guess. Every other time, I fought to stay alive. But then I just … accepted the end. I think giving up on your life is braver than fighting for it. It's often stupid, though, although it wasn't in my case. I would still rather kill myself than sabotage the chances of finding a cure."

A few more people had a go, and Brenda once again dared Minho to make out with her. Except this time, he didn't complain nearly as much, and looked excited to choose the dare. "They've got a weird way of flirting with each other," Teresa whispered to Thomas, who nodded, smirking. Newt, beside him, looked like he had concocted an ingenious plan in his head.

Soon enough, it was Thomas's turn. "Minho, truth or dare?"

"Dare," Minho answered confidently.

"I dare you to stop throwing truth-or-dares to Teresa and I."

"Shuckface."

"Good that."

And then it was Newt's turn. "Brenda, truth or dare?" he asked.

"Dare," she replied, and Newt grinned.

"I dare you to stop throwing truth-or-dares to Minho."

Before Thomas could process any of that, a loud protest came from Minho. "No way!" he yelled, before realising what he had just done. "Shuck," he murmured. "Shuck, shuck, shuck, shuck, shuck. I didn't mean anything. Go ahead and accept the dare. No! I mean, yeah. Well … whatever."

The crowd broke into applause and laughter, while Minho and Brenda blushed a bright red.

After a few uninteresting dares and truth-telling, it was Aris's turn. "Minho, truth or dare?" he asked.

"Truth," he said, surprising Thomas.

Aris smiled wickedly. "Did you ever fall in love with a Griever?"

Minho shot up from his place and walked over to Thomas.

"I didn't tell him anything!" Thomas defended. "I didn't tell anyone anything."

But Minho didn't seem to register that in his mind. His fist flew in the air, towards Thomas's face. His forearm jerked upwards to stop it, but Minho's other fist flew towards his stomach, making him double over.

"What was the deal again?" Minho asked menacingly. "You don't tell anyone, and I don't kill you. So what am I supposed to do now, exactly? Care to remind me?" Both his fists flew in the air, but Thomas caught his arms neatly and tackled him to the ground. Minho squirmed under him, and it took every ounce of energy for him to keep his grip on Minho's arms.

"You're supposed to _not_ kill me!" Thomas yelled. "I didn't tell anyone since the deal! It's possible that I had told him _before_. When I saw you kissing the Griever through the beetle blade."

Minho relaxed, and Thomas loosened his grip on him, getting to his feet.

"He … what?" Brenda asked from behind, her tone shocked.

"Don't worry," Teresa mocked. "We killed his ex-Grieverfriend."

"He didn't physically kiss it," Thomas clarified. "It was a flying kiss."

"I can't believe Minho can be so sappy," Newt remarked, smirking.

"Hello?" Brenda asked. "You'd think the part about the kiss would be the attention-getter. Maybe this stuff about the Griever."

"Now you're sounding like Minho," Thomas pointed out, recalling Minho's reaction to the first Cranks they had encountered in the Scorch.

* * *

Soon, too soon for Minho's liking, the Gladefire was dismissed, and Minho went over to talk to Brenda. Despite everything that had happened earlier, he _was_ starting to like her.

"Uh, Brenda?" he asked.

She turned around, eyeing him and biting her lip nervously. "Yeah?"

"I just wanted to say … " Minho didn't know how to put it. "You're a good kisser," he quickly said and walked off, feeling his cheeks heat up.

"You're a good kisser, too!" Brenda shouted from behind him.

 **Author's note:**

 **Well, this was an exceptionally fluffy chapter, and the Brenho romance is pretty ridiculous. But I still enjoyed writing it : )**

 **Do you want me to give some more importance to the Brenho shipping?**


	23. Chapter 22

"I'm not opposing private schools, Teresa!" Thomas yelled. "All I'm saying is that the state should also run schools."

"Isn't she the bloody Finance Minister?" Newt asked. "She'd know better."

"I'd expect her to!" Thomas snapped. "Stop the shuck appeals to authority!"

"Can we discuss this in a more … _civil_ manner?" Teresa asked, exasperated.

"Civility is a piece of klunk when we're dealing with a civilisation," Thomas murmured.

"Let me speak, is all I'm saying."

"Oh, yeah? Then what're you doing right now, shuckface? Carving words onto dried klunk?"

"Tommy, cool down!" Newt interjected. "Now I understand why Teresa requested me as a bloody mediator."

"Right," Thomas sighed, then nodded towards Teresa. "Speak."

Teresa took a deep breath. "Look, if we're going to–"

"Uh, Thomas?" Chuck's voice came from the door of the Gathering shed, holding a slip of paper in his hand. "Some guy asked me to deliver you a message."

Thomas snatched the piece of paper from him. "First, Minho. Then, _some guy_. Why are you becoming my shuck messenger?"

He read the note out loud.

 _Dear Thomas, Prime Keeper of the Republic of Vaidehi,_

 _It is my understanding that the Administration of Vaidehi intends to embark on developing an economic system for Vaidehi._

 _I am an expert at Keynesian Economics. Please feel free to contact me for any help you may require._

 _Francis LeRoy._

Thomas flipped the note and wrote his own in response.

 _Dear Francis, "Expert at Keynesian Economics"_

 _It is my understanding that you are an expert at Keynesian Economics._

 _It is also my understanding that Keynesian Economics is klunk._

 _Thus, it is my understanding that you are an expert at klunk._

 _I do not require any assistance in taking a klunk._

 _So no thank you,_

 _Thomas._

He handed the note to Chuck. "Here you go, shank, give this to him."

Chuck nodded and made for the door, when Thomas called out to him. "Hey, Chuckie? Aren't you supposed to be at Anastasia's little school?"

"Today's 23 June," Chuck informed. "Saturday."

"So?" Thomas asked, puzzled. "So what? You don't have school on Saturdays?"

"This isn't WICKED, shuckface!" Chuck shouted with a grin on his face, before darting off.

"Stupid shank," Thomas muttered as he returned his attention to Teresa, who sat there, looking at him, eyebrows raised.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked.

"What's wrong with me?"

"You're behaving like you're in the early stages of the Flare."

"Hold on!" Newt said, putting a hand up. "You have no idea how it feels like to have the Flare. So shut your bloody faces, both of you."

"Good that," Thomas agreed, nodding. He pointed to Teresa. "Talk."

The argument continued for roughly half an hour, until Minho entered the room. He stood silently for a few minutes, eyebrows raised, trying to grasp the topic of the conversation, before he finally spoke.

"Hey, shuckfaces!" he said. "If I recall correctly, we don't even _have_ a proper education system, so maybe we should talk about this once we do? And from what I've observed from the past couple of weeks, first we set up a service, then we think about shuckin' privatising it, isn't that how you guys have been doing it?"

Thomas and Teresa stared blankly at each other before turning to face Minho.

"You're a shuck genius," Thomas said.

And then he turned to face Teresa again. "Nevertheless, I was the one who had the better idea, considering you didn't even want to start a state-owned schooling system."

They broke out into arguments again, and Minho groaned and left the room.


	24. Chapter 23

::: 3 months later :::

"I hate you!" a six-year-old girl yelled at Teresa. "Two months ago, we got food for _free_! And now we have to pay for it! All because of _you_!"

"Oh, yeah?" Teresa challenged. "If we didn't do this, people would be lazing their bums off and then you'll all starve to death. Let's see how well you'd do, _then_!"

"It wasn't that way just a month ago!" The kid shrieked. "What do you say? If it ain't broken, don't shucking fix it!"

Teresa raised her eyebrows at the use of Glader slang, but continued to talk. "You mean, if it isn't broken, and is never going to be broken, don't shucking fix it. In this case, it would have been broken by now or soon, if we hadn't shucking fixed it! Maybe we should stop giving you vaccinations! Because if you aren't broken, let's not fix you! And then you'll get the Flare, and go crazy and start chewing your brother's nose! How sweet!"

Thomas and Newt walked towards her. "What are you doing, Teresa?" Thomas asked. "Arguing with a baby communist?"

"Baby communist?" Newt repeated, sounding surprised, if not annoyed by the choice of words.

The kid started to wail uncontrollably and walked away.

"Way to go, Tom!" Teresa said sarcastically. "It wasn't my argument that made her cry. It was your use of the words, ' _baby communist_ '."

"Oh, well," Thomas said with a shrug. "At least it's only the little kids. The rest seem to understand the need for capitalism. Most, anyway."

"Speaking of vaccines," Newt interjected. "Shouldn't we start culturing more of the Flare-B thing in the hospital? To immunise newborns?"

"They already are," Thomas informed. "I just got them to, two weeks back. What's her name? Arnold? No, Anderson. No, Angela. Hans's wife. She's leading the project. They've codenamed it _Isaac_ , after you.I don't think it's too important, most people born to immune parents are immune." He paused. "Besides you and a couple of others."

"Arnold and Anderson are names of shanks."

Thomas shrugged. "Who gives a klunk? Also, I thought shank is a gender-neutral term?"

"Who gives a bloody klunk?"

Teresa looked around her. Frypan's kitchen now had competition, forcing him to keep his kitchen clean, and the prices competitive. People swiping their identity cards to transfer digital currency. Corporations had been set up, including multiple shops, restaurants, one or two hydroponic farms, power plants, two telecommunications companies, and even a real estate corporation. Nearly two thousand immunes had been rescued from Boston, the city where WICKED's headquarters laid, and nearby cities. All of them had digital identities for government services. She didn't admit it, but Teresa _was_ proud of her job. Her and Thomas's anyway. That shank insisted on overlooking every minute detail of issues related to the economy, saying that it was the job of a Prime Keeper, too. Whoever had heard of a nation's economy being pulled together in a matter of months. And that … that was probably why she got so defensive when someone criticised the importance of her job.

She had been to engrossed in her thoughts to notice that Minho had joined them now, until she heard his trademark snicker.

"Oh, it's Vitamin B12," Minho said, pointing at Emily, WICKED's Subject B12, who had apparently been the only Squarer to insist on staying in the Square. Sonya had finally managed to convince her to join them in Vaidehi upon returning to the Square to collect more artifacts for the museum. Much more successfully than the Gladers' attempts to coax the Gladers who had stayed behind, who were now starved to death.

For some reason, 'Vitamin B12' was now walking towards them.

"I hate you," she said spitefully. "I hate you all. Especially you, _Keeper of Money_. And you too, _Keeper of Keeping_. We could have lived without money. Money corrupts. You too, _Keeper of Death_. We could have lived without weapons and armies."

It wasn't the first time Teresa had received hate for being the Keeper of Finance. Emily, the self-proclaimed lord of wit and humour, had took it upon herself to hand out nicknames for all the Keepers. Of course, she was met with Minho, the other self-proclaimed lord of wit and humour, who assigned her equally ridiculous nicknames, Vitamin B12 being one of them.

"Okay, Keeper of Sweepers," Minho said with a roll of eyes. "Go back to your Sloppin'."

Vitamin B12 fumed, and her hands clenched into fists, but she walked off, apparently to do her sweeping duty in the government building, what was once the homestead.

"That went well," Newt said with a shrug. "At least she didn't go crazy and bloody attack us."

* * *

"Yeah, well enough," Thomas said. He paused. He had been dreading to bring this up, but it was only now that he had begun to realise how dangerous Phase-X would be. "You think we'll get much support for Phase-X?" he asked. "I mean, Teresa's receiving so much flak for fixing the economy, imagine the kind of hatered we'll receive for going on a world domination project."

"It might not be as hard as you think," Teresa answered. "With all the immunes on our side, we're basically fighting animals. And did you see the news? Apparently, the Flare is evolving to the point that it destroys the prefrontal cortex until the point where people lose the ability to form and hold alliances. To be crude, they can't even hunt in packs."

"Yeah, well," Thomas murmured. "Anyway, Newt - you'll be in charge of upkeep of public morale."

"Public morale?" Newt asked, startled. "It's not a bloody war."

"Actually, it is," Thomas pointed out.

"Alright, shuckfaces!" Minho yelled. "First we'll go grab breakfast, then go rescue some Immunes."

Thomas glanced at the wooden shed. The security around the Flat Trans had been greatly improved. On their side, the force field had been placed in a cage made of metal and glass, and within the well-guarded laboratory of the old Indian research station, to prevent people from picking up signals and therefore possibly learning the location of their Paradise. On the other side, the Flat Trans was neatly camouflaged within a bookshelf, surrounded by a force field, in a random chamber in a rock within the earth's surface.

"How's your restaurant going, Frypan?" Thomas asked as he glanced at the cook quickly chomping down his own meal in a corner of his restaurant, _Frypan's frying pan_.

"Oh, it's shuckin' awesome!" Frypan replied cheerfully. "The new hires are excellent cooks, one of them even prepares better sweets than me!"

Thomas rolled his eyes. "I mean, how are the profits going?"

Frypan squinted a little. "Same as last time," he said with a shrug.

"I think you should improve the hygiene," Thomas suggested. " _I'll_ always eat here because of the nostalgia and all I get from your food, but you know - I've seen some of your cooks sweat into the food."

That caught Frypan's attention. "Ugh, Freddy, isn't it? That shank sweats too much in the kitchen. I'll get a fan or something installed."

Thomas nodded. "Maybe you should open a feedback system for customers. I bet hygiene will be high on the list."

Frypan shrugged. "I guess. I'll see what I can do."

Thomas nodded and walked off towards the counters to buy his standard breakfast. A vegetable sandwich and four fresh lemons.

* * *

Teresa groaned. "Ugh, Tom, how do you that?"

"Do what?" Thomas asked, puzzled.

"That. Eat lemons whole."

"It's delicious. You should try it sometime."

"Your body's pH is going to drop."

"Then I'll start eating baking soda."

Minho and Newt squinched up their faces in disgust as Thomas tossed his third lemon into his mouth and started chomping on it.

"The peel's bitter," Minho commented.

"You think Grievers are edible?" Thomas asked randomly, his mouth full with two lemons, leading Teresa to get up from her chair and make a run for the toilet.

"Where did that happy thought come from?" Newt asked, looking disgusted. "Anyway, you'd know, bloody maze creator dude."

"We designed the Maze, not the Grievers," Thomas pointed out. "The Biotech team kept the details of the biological tissue used classified, but I'm suspecting some kind of a fish."

Teresa returned, seeming disgusted with the idea of Grievers being possibly edible. "Finished?" she asked, annoyance lacing her voice.

"Uh, somewhat. I was thinking if our team should go explore WICKED headquarters today, instead of rescuing Immunes. Who knows what we'll find?"

Teresa shrugged, Newt raised his eyebrows towards Minho, who nodded. "Yeah," they finally said.

* * *

"All set?" Minho asked, and his friends nodded in agreement. They all had Transvices slung over their necks and gripped tightly in their hands, and pistols and daggers lodged neatly in the straps of their backpack or in their waistbands. It was the cosy team of Thomas, Teresa, Minho, Newt, Brenda, and Jorge. "Then let's go runnin'."

Thomas rolled his eyes. Those where the words Minho had said to him when Thomas had first become a Runner.

They pushed the front of the bookshelf open and entered their little underground chamber beneath the WICKED headquarters in Boston, beneath the Maze. The electricity for running the Flat Trans came from the electric wires deep within the ground of the Maze. Dissolving the Force Field, they made their way past the rows of bookshelves and other dummy furniture. Unlocking the entrance to the narrow vertical tunnel, they surfaced at a spot deep within the heart of the Maze.

The directions to the Cliff had become second-nature by now, even to the non-Runners. Jumping into the Griever Hole and shuffling past the rungs of the ladder, they had reached the WICKED headquarters.

"Okay, where do you wanna go now, shuckface?" Minho asked.

"We'll explore the K-wing first, then the H-wing," Thomas replied.

"Which wing are we in now?"

"H-wing, but this place is actually closer to the K-wing than to most of the H-wing."

"What about the J-wing? I remember that was out of bounds."

"That was the quarters for WICKED employees to stay. Nothing much there, besides maybe baby pictures of Rat Man."

The six of them winced simultaneously at the thought of Rat Man's baby pictures. Thomas thought for a moment. "Hey, we could find baby pictures of Newt at Chancellor Paige's quarters."

"Hey!" Newt shouted. "Don't you dare!"

Minho snickered. Newt pointed the Transvice at his head, shutting him up.

"Not funny," Minho commented.

"Especially if I bloody pull the trigger."

"Okay, let's go," Thomas said, hoping to put an end to the ridiculous discussion between his two friends.

* * *

They reached the K-wing in a matter of minutes. The door to the K-wing was locked, and it looked completely unaffected by the Right Arm's explosives. Teresa suggested blowing the door open with the Transvice, but Minho, of course, had other plans.

Minho staggered back in defeat for the umpteenth time after attempting to break the door open with his arms.

"Minho, for the last bloody time, however weak WICKED's security might be, they aren't gonna guard their bloody super-secret K-wing with a door that you can break with your bloody hands," Newt explained.

"Any better ideas?" Minho finally asked, looking defeated. "We can't risk using the Transvice."

"Yeah," Thomas responded, and pulled the dagger out of the straps of his backpack. With all the strength he could muster, he launched it into one of the door's hinges. It cracked. He stabbed at the hinge again, and again, and by the seventh stab, it gave away. Repeating the same with the other hinges, the door finally gave away and crashed to the ground, pinning Jorge's shoe under it.

"See?" Thomas shrugged. "You just need to break the hinges, not the entire shuckin' door."

Minho glanced at the dagger. "That's one sharp knife," he commented.

Newt, on the other hand, seemed to be lost in his own world, staring at the darkness behind the door, as if expecting Grievers to come flying through any moment. "Let's go," he whispered, but Thomas thought he heard the slightest tremor in his voice.

Jorge switched on his flashlight, revealing the interior structure of what laid behind the door. It was a room. A single room, no bigger than any of the standard meeting rooms at WICKED. Except it had no furniture, nothing. The walls were bare and white, except for a single light-grey cylinder mounted on the far wall. On top of the box was a display and a keyboard.

"Looks like something from the shuck 21st century," Minho commented.

Thomas was barely listening to Minho's words, as he stepped forward to look more closely at the cylinder. Squinting, he noticed a power button and some USB slots – so it was a computer. He connected the display and the keyboard to the USB slots and switched the computer on.

He stared at the screen of the display, shocked. "It's a shucking Macintosh. Didn't the thing die in like … 2050?"

"2060," Teresa corrected. "So it's old. Who cares?"

"It's a freakin' artifact," Minho pointed out. "More than 200 years old."

The computer booted up. Thomas was surprised to find that after all those layers of security they used to have around the K-wing, the computer didn't have a password.

On the desktop were three files.

 **1\. PFC Archives**

 **2\. Early Correspondence (WICKED) /pre-Purge**

 **3\. Later Correspondence (WICKED) /post-Purge**

Thomas immediately opened the PFC Archives. He was more than interested in the details of the release of the Flare. He read it out loud.

 **TO ALL SURVIVIORS OF THE SUN FLARES**

"Whom we're eventually gonna kill, anyway," Thomas commented.

 **The Flares Information Recovery Endeavour … Netblock, Berg, plane, boat, car, and horse.**

"Horse?" The four former Gladers asked simultaneously.

 **So far FIRE … to do what we have always done: survive.**

"And this time, we're going to do it by killing ourselves!" Thomas yelled, his voice laced with spite. "Woo-hoo!"

 **FIRE's first task … shelter coordination plans.**

"Nothing about killing people?"

 **If you read this message … Alaska.**

"For what?"

 **RE: Population Concerns**

"Oh, no."

… **the world has too many people and not enough resources.**

"Yeah, too many people who are stupid enough to spread the Flare, and too few resources, such as intelligence."

… " **think outside the box." I believe it is time we do just that.**

"Damn it, shuck-face!" Thomas banged the table with his fists.

"I believe," Newt said icily. "That all you need to do to control the world's population, is to distribute–"

"Enough," Jorge intervened. "Thomas, continue reading."

Thomas nodded before doing as he was told to.

 **I look forward to hearing your ideas.**

"I don't," Teresa whispered. "I don't look forward to it at all."

 **I … dinner last night.**

"I wish your dinner was poisoned," Thomas said spitefully.

… **far too unpredictable to be usable. Except one.**

"Which was just as unpredictable."

 **It's a virus.**

"Shuck you."

 **It attacks the brain and shuts it down**

"Just like what happened to you."

 **painlessly.**

"Right … " Newt said from behind.

"If they wanted to kill off half the population, why didn't they just shoot bullets?" Thomas questioned. "Or give out death sentences for every petty crime? _Something!_ "

 **To: Randall Spilker**

 **From: Ladena Lichliter**

"Oh, those are the nice guys."

 **I'm still sick from the meeting today.**

"Me too."

… **Randall, tell me what the HELL is going on?**

"Not a clue." Thomas continued to the next page. "Another one by the shuck-faced John Michael. Great."

 **Executive Order #13 … TOP-SECRET, of the highest priority, on penalty of capital punishment.**

"So you do slintheaded stuff, then keep it secret because you know it's slintheaded stuff?" Minho scoffed.

… ***Begin transmission* … *End transmission* We need to gather the board immediately.**

"What the shuck just happened here?"

… **Randall, we have a major, major crisis on our hands.**

"That, you do," Thomas agreed.

 **They should've listened to us. They should've listened!**

"They should've."

… **A cure.**

"You won't get it."

 **I'm leaving. I don't want to infect anyone.**

"Oh, how sweet. First you release the Flare, then you kill yourself to avoid infecting one extra person. Every single shuckin' person infected, is infected because of you, shuckface!"

 **You were a true friend in this madness.**

"You mean, you were a true friend _to_ this madness."

… **I have an idea.**

"Oh, klunk," Minho muttered.

Thomas finished reading, and closed the window immediately. It disgusted Thomas. It disgusted him as to how the members of the PFC could possibly be so stupid. Then again, he hadn't been particularly sensible during the time he had his memories wiped …

He pushed the thought out of his head. Yes, it was WICKED's brainwashing that knocked sense into him. Yes, it was WICKED which made him whom he was now. It didn't matter. None of those stupidities mattered anymore. He hated the Post-Flares Coalition. He hated them with a passion he had never known could be felt by a human.

"You read the rest," he murmured, nodding at Teresa. "This klunk has left me depressed enough."

Teresa nodded and opened the early WICKED correspondence.

 **RE: Elite Candidate [1] - Teresa**

 **We have discovered an extraordinary candidate.**

 **She is in fact, Subject "Teresa" (Age: 6), the first Immune to be discovered. Preliminary tests show the most promising results we have ever encountered thus far. Her verbal skills are at an adult level, and her cognitive skills exceed those of most adults. She also has potential for great physical capabilities.**

 **If you would like to observe her, please go to Room 32J.**

"Ugh, I hated those observations," Teresa commented. Thomas smirked. He recalled how _he_ disliked being observed, too.

 **RE: Elite Candidate [2] - Thomas**

 **We have discovered a most extraordinary candidate.**

"Hey, do you realise that you're _extraordinary,_ while I'm _most extraordinary_?" Thomas asked with a smirk, leading Teresa to roll her eyes.

 **He is Subject "Thomas" (Age: 6). Preliminary tests show the most promising results we have ever encountered thus far.**

"That includes your results," Thomas said, nodding at Teresa.

 **His verbal skills are almost at an adult level,**

Teresa put her tongue out at Thomas. " _Almost_ ," she pointed out.

 **And his cognitive skills already exceed those of most adults. He also has potential for incredible physical capabilities, which of course is expected to become vital in the Trials.**

"Once again, you're _great_ , while I'm _incredible_. See?" Thomas pointed out.

 **If you would like to observe Thomas, please go to Room 31J (next to Teresa's).**

 **RE: Implants**

… **I am happy report that the doctors reported seven deaths in the surgery.**

Teresa stopped reading.

"He's _happy_ about that?" Thomas, Minho, and Newt asked simultaneously.

"Oh, sorry," Teresa shushed them. "I meant to say, _only_ seven deaths in the surgery. Wait a second, _only_?"

"Move on," Thomas directed. "Read the rest."

 **Transcript of Subjects A1 and A2, Meeting 1**

"Oh, this is going to be fun," Jorge said with a smirk, the first time he had spoken since a while.

… **Most of it tastes like a toilet.**

Thomas and Teresa grinned simultaneously, recalling their first conversation.

… **I wonder how you know what a toilet tastes like.**

The six of them burst into laughter, and Teresa's cheeks turned a bright red. "I did try, actually," she said. "Eating my own klunk. Right after this meeting."

… **Sorry being around me is so freaking boring for you.**

Minho, Newt, and Jorge squinched up their faces in surprise. "What?"

"Oh, the transcript doesn't convey the tone for you," Teresa responded.

"Sorry about that," Thomas said, smiling sheepishly.

…

 **FROM: Thomas [Subject A2]**

 **TO: Kevin Anderson [Chancellor]**

 **RE: Thoughts regarding my apparent rebelliousness**

 **I'm going to make this very clear: keep sending me to Lincoln for my apparent "rebelliousness", keep telling me off about how I shouldn't be emotional, keep trying to make me a robot like the rest of you. I'm not going to budge.**

 **I'm perfectly capable of preventing my emotions from controlling my actions, and that's that.**

 **Acting unemotional only leads to greater emotional backflow in future, suffocating you. You don't need to be unemotional to work for WICKED. You just need to ensure your emotions don't control your actions. You just need to ensure that your actions are controlled solely by your utilitarian sense of morality.**

 **Sorry, but no sorry. Too bad.**

"Woah, woah," Minho murmured. "This Lincoln guy is the same shuck who administered my third trial. Who is he, anyway?"

"WICKED's interrogator," Thomas informed. "Also, Rat Man's number one fan."

… **Do not fight your decomission. I did, and now I regret it.**

"So do I," Teresa said. "It was kinda hard to send guards after the Chancellor, so it ended up being us to drag him out of the headquarters."

… **I have only two fingers left.**

"Well, that was weird," Thomas muttered.

… **We are evil … We are evil … You're evil, I'm evil. My two fingers tell me so.**

"What in the world?"

 **Everyone will die.**

"What's wrong with this shucking … "

 **Let the Munies have the world.**

"Well, to be honest," Thomas interrupted. "That's what happened in the end. Anyway, read the third file. Post-Purge."

… **FROM: Thomas [Subject A2]**

 **I take total responsibility of what we have had to do over the past few weeks.**

"What?" Minho asked.

"The Purge," Teresa replied, her voice quivering ever so slightly. "Killing the original WICKED staff when they caught the Flare. A predecessor to The Right Arm bombed us with a packet of the Flare. It was a good thing the non-Immune subjects were–"

"Call them subjects again and–"

"Minho," Thomas intervened calmly. "It's just a word. Don't get too pissed off over it. We call them subjects when we're talking about their role in the experiment, and people when we talk to them."

Minho sighed and looked away.

 **Ava Paige is the new Chancellor of WICKED, effective immediately.**

"You hired the freaking Chancellor," Minho pointed out, baffled.

"That's what he just bloody said," Newt pointed out.

 **FROM: Thomas [Subject A2]**

 **RE: Regarding Newt's injury**

Thomas quickly glanced at Newt, who look surprised. "Are you sure we want to read this?" he asked. "Does Minho know about–"

"Yeah, I know," Minho said, taking Newt by surprise. "There's no way you can just fall off the Maze wall like that."

 **Newt (Subject A5) did not attempt suicide. It was an attempt of murder by Janson.**

The room was stunned into silence.

"Shuckin' Rat Man … " Minho started. "I'm going to break his shuck nose."

 **Teresa brought to my notice that Janson (Director of the Betrayal design team, Overseer of the Phase-III trials) had illegally manipulated the Swipe, in clear violation the WICKED Board Resolution #19.1.2, to induce patterns of depression in his killzone.**

Minho's palms balled into fists, his knuckles cracking, but Newt's expression had only relief. Relief that it wasn't his own suicidal thoughts, perhaps.

 **We were able to prevent Newt's death by lowering his breathing rate and sending Alby (Subject A3) after him.**

"So that's what Alby meant when he said he didn't _want_ to go into the Maze," Newt whispered. Thomas nodded. "Yeah. He's got a record of being controlled by WICKED the highest number of times."

 **Nevertheless, I think it is essential to take the appropriate course of action for this situation. Newt is our special control, and is, besides, of great importance in future Variables. Semi-Immunes are very rare, and might well be the real key to success in curing the Flare.**

 **Such irresponsible behaviour warrants punishment.**

 **I call for a Board meeting as soon as possible. I officially recommend that we kick Janson's butt out.**

Newt snickered slightly.

 **No, seriously, I officially recommend that we put Director Janson out of commission.**

…

 **FROM: Ava Paige [Chancellor]**

 **TO: Thomas [Subject A2], Teresa [Subject A1]**

 **RE: Regarding today's Board meeting**

 **I understand that you are upset with the conclusion of today's Board meeting.**

 **You must understand, however, that Janson's genuineness in his hatred for the Immunes might be particularly important for certain trials that you all are unaware of.**

"The Denver trial," Thomas whispered, as if in a trance.

 **Thus, I believe that his demotion from Director to Assistant Director was the right course of action. It prevents him from voting in Board meetings, as well as removes the chance of legitimate access to all variables besides the ones he is in charge of handling.**

 **FROM: Thomas [Subject A2]**

 **TO: Ava Paige [Chancellor]**

 **RE: Regarding today's Board meeting**

 **All I request is that Janson's activities be closely monitored, particularly during the carry-out of the betrayal variable.**

 **I don't trust that rat face. Not one bit.**

Snickers broke out.

"That explains some stuff," Thomas muttered. "Like how stupidly I was behaving back in the Scorch and even afterward." He realised that his stupidity had begun wearing out after the removal of the Swipe by Hans in Denver.

Teresa nodded in agreement.

 **FROM: Ava Paige [Chancellor]**

 **TO: Ava Paige [Chancellor]**

 **RE: Chuck**

"She wrote herself an email?" Thomas asked, surprised. "And it's recorded here?"

 **Maybe Thomas was right.**

"I always am," Thomas said with a grin, then quickly corrected himself. "Almost always. And only when I have my memories intact."

 **Yes, maybe Thomas was right about "emotional backflow".**

 **Just this morning, I was almost on the verge of revealing to the Gladers the truth of Chuck's "death". It hurts. It hurts to see them cry. It sounds ridiculous, but I've grown close to each and every kid put in the Glade.**

 **Yes, maybe he** _ **was**_ **right. I can't keep my emotions bottled in much longer. I need to clear my mind.**

 **Unfortunately, I don't** _ **have**_ **a way any longer. I should have let my emotions flow. Look at Thomas and Teresa, how calmly they had entered the Maze.**

"Not all that calm," Teresa muttered under her breath.

…

 **FROM: Ava Paige [Chancellor]**

 **TO: My Associates**

 **RE: Thoughts on the Maze Trials, Group A**

… **but to me, it's an obvious choice.**

"Me!" Minho yelled.

"Um, sorry to burst your bubble, Minho, but she meant Thomas," Brenda clarified. "The signs in the Scorch."

Minho slumped his shoulders in defeat. "Shuckface," he muttered. "Like stealing my throne as ruler of the Maze wasn't enough."

…

 **RE: Thoughts on the Maze Trials, Group B**

… **of course, it is essential that the subjects never learn of the differences between their trials, otherwise the patterns collected during the Ego and Betrayal variables would be suboptimal.**

"Aha!" Minho yelled. "Ego variable! So that's why so many of those Group B shucks survived the Maze, and then ended up dying till only _four_ of them survived."

"It's also why they escaped earlier," Thomas added. "Rachel didn't have to go through the Changing, Aris was allowed to remember about going down the Griever Hole, and the rest of the … _Squarers'_ brains were manipulated into trusting them for that little thing."

…

 **FROM: William Soot (Assistant Director)**

 **TO: Adrian Janson (Assistant Director)**

 **RE: Faulty memory leak**

 **It appears that the memory leaks for Subject A2 (Thomas) has malfunctioned.**

 **This is not a concern for me, as the memories that have leaked are not enough to affect the Leak variable for subjects A2 and B1 (Aris).**

 **However, A2 now possesses memories of the betrayal variable, as well as too many memories of his interaction with Subject A1 (Teresa). This might be of concern for you.**

…

 **FROM: Adrian Janson (Assistant Director)**

 **TO: Michael Christensen (Lead Physician), Katie Wright (Assistant Lead Psych)**

 **RE: An opportunity**

 **I have found an excellent excuse to access Thomas (A2)'s Swipe and block his rationality. As we have earlier determined, this would provide for an ideal scenario to disturb Teresa (A1)'s emotional responses.**

 **The Memory Leak variable has faulted and lead to certain memories being released that will prevent the Betrayal Variable from doing its trick.**

 **Thus we have an ideal excuse to manipulate Thomas's Swipe. Please come meet me in private to discuss the possibilities regarding this matter.**

Thomas sat oddly silent as he heard the email. He was disgusted with Rat Man and his friends for the psychopathic tendencies he exhibited, disturbed about how much control WICKED once had over them, shocked at himself that he allowed himself to fall for this stupid trick of Rat Man's.

…

 **FROM: Katie Wright (Lead Psych)**

 **TO: Adrian Janson (Assistant Director), Michael Christensen (Lead Physician)**

 **RE: Another opportunity**

 **The unfortunate demise of our Lead Psych, Jonathan Xaviers, has provided us for yet another opportunity.**

 **I have now been elevated to the position of Lead Psych, and my recommendation is enough to commence a new Phase-III trial.**

 **I have a synopsis ready, please come meet me in private to discuss this in greater detail. I propose that we subject Subject A5 to the trial, since all signs show that Subject A2 is expected to be the final candidate, and thus we have a plenty of other … challenges in store for him, which I believe Dr Christensen is working on.**

 **I suppose you are also eager to traumatise Subject A5, to hopefully cause significant emotional damage to Ava, who is responsible for your demotion.**

Thomas fumed, his hands clenched into fists by his side. He absolutely despised these three people and however many allies they might have had. He might have hated the members of the PFC for releasing the Flare, but at least they were doing what they genuinely thought was for the greater good, however stupid that was. But Janson and his friends … their only objective was to fulfil their personal jealousies, their personal revenge.

…

 **FROM: Michael Christensen (Lead Physician)**

 **TO: Adrian Janson (Assistant Director), Katie Wright (Lead Psych)**

 **RE: For the final candidate**

 **I am surprised I did not earlier come upon this idea.**

 **Subject A2 (Thomas) exhibits a shocking amount of will to survive, more than that ever observed from any other candidate.**

 **The best treatment I have managed to think of for him, is submission to death. I propose we choose him to study brain tissue. The lingering effects of the rationality block will prevent him from questioning the legitimacy of this choice.**

 **Another positive side effect of this is the emotional damage that will be caused to the other Immune subjects.**

"Positve," Thomas scoffed. "I don't get how someone could be so … psychopathic."

…

 **Newton: The bullet saved me from the Flare, and the Flare saved me from the bullet. Bloody interesting.**

Snickers broke out.

…

 **FROM: Adrian Janson (Chancellor)**

Thomas froze as he heard that. "What?"

Teresa looked up. "I have no clue. I … the letter's two days old." She continued reading.

 **TO: My associates**

 **The death of my look-alike was an unfortunate event, as was his succumbing to the Flare.**

 **Nevertheless, it is crucial that we re-obtain our subjects for the continuation of the trials, as well as attempt to put an end to the Vaccine Distribution Program.**

 **Ava Paige has been successfully captured, and will be held under interrogation daily at Room 13H, until the details of the subjects' location, or of her other supporters, are found. She will eventually be executed in the most … unpleasant manner, for treason against WICKED.**


	25. Chapter 24

The room was frozen, the tension in the air was palpable.

Teresa finally broke the silence. "It's the last letter," she said. "What now?"

Minho was the one to reply. "Now we gather an army and march into Room 13H. No questions."

"And if they have an army of their own waiting for us?" Thomas asked. "We don't know what we're up against."

"We're not letting my mother get tortured!" Newt interrupted. Thomas sometimes forgot whom Ava Paige was to Newt. But surprising him, Brenda repeated the same words.

"Relax, Newt, … Brenda," he replied. "Just give me an hour or so. I'll get into the old Right Arm device and see if I can make sure only _our_ weapons are enabled. Or maybe only keep the Transvices enabled. I'm pretty sure they won't be keeping those with them in a torture room."

* * *

Ava's face was bloody, and her body was bruised all over from the torture. She knew there was no use struggling, and she didn't know how much longer she could last. But she was not going to tell them anything. She was not going to let Janson and Co. sacrifice the last remaining chance for humanity.

"You're not giving me anything useful," Janson sneered. "Lincoln, shoot her in the knee."

Lincoln nodded as he raised his pistol and aimed for her knee. Ava shut her eyes and braced herself for the pain as Lincoln reached for the trigger.

 _Click._

Nothing happened. She opened her eyes.

"Pick another one!" Janson bellowed from behind. Lincoln nodded and did as he was told.

 _Click_.

The weapon had failed. Lincoln kept trying with more pistols, then with a launcher, even a flame-launcher, nothing worked. Janson's face had gone red with anger.

But the man's response almost stopped Ava's heart. "Looks like we need to do it the old-fashioned way. Use a dagger or something."

Just as Lincoln was about to plunge a dagger into her knee, a familiar voice hollered from the door.

"Stop right there!"

Ava's eyes widened at the source of the voice. It was Thomas, a Transvice gripped in his hands, brandished straight at Janson.

She wanted to tell him to stop, to run away, but she didn't. She couldn't afford to remind Janson that the Transvice wouldn't work.

"Well, well," Janson sneered. "Just the one we were looking for. Now–"

"Looks like I'm the one with weapons," Thomas interrupted.

 _Albeit one that doesn't work_ , Ava thought. She had no idea why or how Thomas had come here, and just wished for him to leave.

"Oh, yeah?" Lincoln asked, waving a pistol in the air. "Then what's this?"

Thomas smirked. "Then fire it. Shoot me. In the leg, if you want me alive."

So it was him who had disabled the weapons. But it still didn't explain the Transvice.

Lincoln's expression grew worried. "Your Transvice won't work, either," he said, but the tremor in his voice gave him away.

In response, Thomas shifted the barrel of the Transvice right towards Lincoln's face, and fired. Ava watched in sick fascination as the grey fabric engulfed her torturer, his screams abruptly cut off. Janson's face had gone pale in horror.

"You did not just do that," Janson stammered.

"Looks like I did," Thomas replied, returning the focus of the barrel to Janson. "Anyway, now put down your weapons. All of you. Or else Rat Man dies."

Ava mentally smirked at the usage of the Gladers' term for Janson.

Before she knew it, one of the old WICKED guards launched a dagger right in Thomas's direction, barely missing him. Thomas fired another shot of the Transvice, killing the old guard, and returning the focus of the Transvice to Janson. "We could do this with less death, you know," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Now put down your weapons. Kick them my way. Hands up."

The guards and employees did as they were told, placing their daggers and knives and swords on the floor, kicking them towards Thomas, and raising their arms.

"Come on," Thomas called over his shoulder. "We have some people to interrogate."

Before she knew it, an army of people entered the room, all well-armed. She scanned the crowd. Teresa was there, so was Rachel. Her children, Newt and Brenda. Minho, Jorge, and … what was her name, Jane? One of the rejected subjects, wasn't she? Yes, for showing affection towards Newt. So the two groups had found each other.

"Brenda, Newt," Thomas directed. "Untie Ava Paige, get her medical treatment. The rest of us will interrogate these shuck slintheads."

* * *

Thomas and Minho met the Rat Man himself, tying him to a chair. "You thought you'd kill someone," Thomas spat, "And they'd _stay dead_!"He smiled for effect.

He picked up a sharp, slender dagger from the pile of weapons, but didn't lose his grip on the Transvice.

"Okay!" He announced. "We have to be in sync during the interrogation, so we'll be able to tell when our … _subjects_ lie." He said the word _subjects_ with spite, earning a few snickers from the crowd.

"First question," he hollered, placing the dagger over the Rat Man's knuckles. "How many more people do you have with you?"

A chorus of "none"s broke out. Thomas swiped the dagger sharply across the Rat Man's knuckles, earning a sharp cry of pain. He punched the man in the face, shutting him up.

"Don't lie," he warned. "Or it'll only get worse. We've been spying on you since a while, and we know quite a bit about your plans. How else do you think we found out about your little interrogation?" All lies, of course.

"I'm telling the truth!" Janson screamed.

"Fine," Thomas said, then plunged the dagger into the base of the captive's nails, getting another piercing scream. "First thing, don't shout. Answer quietly or we'll tear your eyeballs out. Now tell me, who else is with you?"

"None," The Rat Man stammered. "I'm telling the truth. I swear I am."

Thomas was surprised by the drop in the man's tone. From a Griever to a beetle blade in a minute. But he could tell that the man wasn't lying. So he dug up for something to cover up. "Oh, yeah?" he asked, again announcing the question to all the captives. "Then why do our reports say there are eight of you, when I see only six?"

"Because you killed two of them!" Janson yelled.

"I told you to be quiet," Thomas spat. His fingers rushed forward, grabbing the man's eyelashes, and he tugged on them. The Rat Man let out an animal-like scream, and Thomas had to choke him to make him stop.

"That's good," Thomas said. "You gave me an answer for a nail, think about what you'd give me in exchange for a limb or an eyeball. So give us your answers when your limbs are still intact." He wondered if he could even really do something remotely close to what he was saying, but the Rat Man's face had paled with horror.

"Next question," Thomas continued, again ensuring that all the captives could hear him. "What were your plans for us?"

"The same thing," Janson said, quivering. "Repeating the same trials, except with some more challenges. Some of them which you suggested to us."

Thomas noticed the other captives were saying the same thing, so decided that the Rat Man had to be telling the truth. After all, they wouldn't have planned on a cover, would they? "You mean dropping us in the ocean, seeing if we could swim back to the shore?" he asked. "And putting us in a cage with gorillas and letting us fight?"

"Cranks," Rat Man said. "A cage with Cranks."

"You suggested those to him?" Minho whispered quietly.

Thomas rolled his eyes. "It was meant to be sarcastic. Of course, the Rat over here doesn't give his own ass for the cure, but just to satisfy his own jealousy and revenge." He looked at the Rat Man, whose eyes had grown teary with a tinge of blood from his eyelids, and Thomas watched with a sick fascination as the man stifled his sobs like a little kid.

"Next," Thomas continued. "The Maze is destroyed and everything, how did you plan to continue the trials?"

"We have a replica in Iceland," Rat Man stammered, and his companions were saying the same things. "Except that instead of the … Cliff, it has a hidden exit behind the walls that only open themselves when in contact with a Griever's body."

Thomas glanced behind his back to ensure that Anastasia was making notes. She looked a little distraught, perhaps from all the torture she was observing. But she was, obviously, enjoying it. After all, what kind of a psychopath would you be to possibly _not_ enjoy seeing it?

"It's not in Iceland, is it?" Thomas asked, placing his dagger on the ridge between Janson's ear and his head. He was pretty sure he heard another captive say it was in the Scorch.

Rat Man's eyes widened. "No," he finally said. "It's in the Scorch."

"Where in the Scorch?" Thomas pressed.

"Former Egypt. Thirty miles South of the remains of Cairo."

He heard other captives say the same, so he nodded. "Good, good." Once again, he glanced behind his back to see Anastasia crossing out something on her notebook and replacing it with more words.

"Where are the other WICKED employees you kidnapped?" Thomas asked. The correspondence only mentioned Ava Paige, but hey, what's wrong with asking?

"Other WICKED employees?" Rat Man asked. "There are no others. Just … just Ava Paige."

"Oh, yeah?" Thomas asked. "Then why do we hear rumours otherwise?"

"I swear I don't know anything," Janson whimpered. "This … Ava Paige is the only one we captured."

"How were you planning to get funds or support for continuing the trials? People already know that the Immunes have nothing special about them. That it's a mutated version of the Flare."

"People would buy it," the Rat Man said with a shrug. "They have nothing to lose. We plan to just tell them that we were studying the killzone and … that would find a cure."

" _Planned_ to," Thomas corrected. "You're three seconds from getting your head blasted out." Then he snickered, and Rat Man's face grew, impossibly, even paler.

"Please … if you want to kill us, do it quick," Rat Man begged.

Thomas was shocked at how Rat Man had shrunk to the stage of whimpering. "Beggars aren't choosers," he taunted. "Now tell me, why do you want to stop the vaccine distribution program?"

"Because … because I don't _like_ Immunes," Rat Man snarled. "I've caught the Flare, we've all caught the Flare over here, we can't be vaccinised."

"You've caught the Flare?" Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Teresa, pass me the mini-FDU."

They tested the prisoners for the Flare, and indeed, they all had caught the Flare. "Good," Thomas whispered. "I suppose you're on the Bliss?"

That explained why the Rat Man's tone had less menace in it than he would have expected. And as expected, Janson nodded, as did the other captives.

The interrogation continued for nearly an hour, and the captives were bleeding all over by the end. One, stubborn one, had an eyelid torn off and smashed privates, even.

"So do we kill them off now or what?" Minho asked.

"Not so soon," Thomas said with a smile. "Remember your little wish? Dragging Rat Man through his little territory? Well, what if we put him in a bag and drag him through _your_ little territory?"

Minho raised his eyebrows.

"You ruled it for two years," Thomas said. "The Maze, you shank, the Maze."

"You can't do that!" Rat Man cried, stammering for words.

"You bet we can," Minho said with a snicker.

The Rat Man turned to Thomas. "You always were so obsessed with utilitarianism. What's the utility in torturing me?"

Thomas took a step towards his captive, then grabbed him by the collar. "It's for our future generations. Teach them a lesson in stupidity."

* * *

"Why don't you join us in here?" Newt asked his mother.

"I have other work to do back in the real world," she explained sadly. "Like distributing the vaccine."

"How are you distributing the vaccine, anyway?" Newt asked, curious.

"Sending around Bergs shooting darts full of the vaccine."

Newt rolled his eyes. "Sounds like a WICKED kind of thing."

"It's fine," Brenda said with a shrug. "Why _wouldn't_ someone want to be immunised?"

Newt was still annoyed with Brenda for not revealing that she was the same Brenda who was his sister - his mother's biological daughter. She had claimed that Thomas had shushed her when she had tried to talk about it in Denver, but Newt nevertheless thought of it as a lame excuse.

No words were exchanged for a minute.

"The Right Arm is trying to stop the vaccine distribution," his mother said suddenly.

"What?" Newt asked.

The Ex-Chancellor inhaled deeply, then sighed. "The Right Arm was a part of the variables, but they themselves didn't know that. They've turned into a terrorist group now." She paused. "WICKED is finished, but they know that the Vaccine Distribution Department has risen from its ashes. So they want to take us down."

Newt was confused. Wasn't The Right Arm's objective always to protect the Immunes?

Ava Paige continued speaking. "Vince doesn't need a reason to oppose us. He's obsessed with his power, that's all. Rumours say … that Vince is collaborating with Janson."

Newt's eyes widened. He knew exactly whom he needed at that moment. "Aris!" he called.

* * *

"Maybe we should send you to your Maze in Cairo, install the Swipe in you, send you through the trials!" Thomas suggested. Of course, he had no intent to waste resources on a petty revenge, but it was nevertheless fun to watch the Rat Man's face grow pale.

And then he heard a voice in his skull.

 _Hey, Thomas? It's me, Aris. We need the captives alive. You haven't killed Janson, right?_

 _No_ , Thomas replied. _The rat face is still alive. What happened?_

 _Listen to me carefully. Chancellor Paige says that Janson's team is working with the Right Arm to stop the vaccine distribution program._

Thomas's eyes widened at what he heard. The Right Arm had been a part of the variables, but that didn't mean they would magically disappear once WICKED's task for them was over.

 _Got it,_ he replied. _I'll get some answers about them from Rat Man._

 _Not just any answers,_ was Aris's reply. _Here, listen to me._

"What's going on, Thomas?" Minho asked, but Thomas quickly shushed him. He had to listen to Aris's instructions.

"What do you have to do with the Right Arm?" Thomas asked.

"The Right Arm?" The Rat Man stammered. "We don't have anything to do with the Right Arm."

Thomas stroked his dagger on the Rat Man's nose, the captive's body tensing up and his eyeballs following the path of the dagger.

"Spit it out," Thomas said calmly, taking cues from how Teresa had acted during the Betrayal variable. "Do it when all your limbs are intact."

"I swear I–"

Thomas slashed his dagger across the man's torso, obtaining a bloodcurdling scream.

"Now speak," Thomas directed. "What's the nature of your collaboration with the Right Arm?"

"We … we're the ones who collect information," Rat Man stammered. "About the vaccine distribution program. They do the ground work."

"How long's this been going?" Thomas asked.

"It started two days after you left for … wherever you left," The Rat Man explained, his whole body shivering. "Vince contacted me, said he had hacked into WICKED … we had a common enemy."

"What's the Right Arm's next move?" Thomas asked, noting in some corner of his head that the other prisoners had said similar things.

"I don't know," was Janson's reply.

Thomas yanked up the Rat Man's tied hands, then pressed the dagger to the web between the captive's thumb and forefinger.

"You do."

"I swear I don't!" The Rat Man yelled, and Thomas pressed his dagger into the man's hand, getting a shriek.

"You do. And I told you to be quiet."

"I don't. But … " The Rat Man let a single tear trickle down his cheek. "I know that they have a base in Canada. After the Denver issue, they settled down in Canada."

"Where can we see your correspondence with the Right Arm?"

"Block K."

Thomas rubbed his dagger ever so slightly across the man's palm, and the Janson released a whimper. "We've already been there," Thomas spat. "Tell me the truth."

"It's not on the Desktop. Search for _Vince_ and you'll get it."

Thomas directed Rachel to do it. She nodded and ran off.

"What else do you know about the Right Arm?" he asked.

"Nothing," was Janson's unhelpful response.

Thomas sighed, then moved his dagger to the Rat Man's shin. "You've gotta know something," he said. "Tell me when your limbs are intact."

"I don't know anything else."

Thomas kicked him hard in the shin, earning a high-pitched yelp. "Of course you do. You wouldn't have struck a deal with them otherwise."

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

"They're going to stop the Vaccine Distribution Program."

Thomas kicked Janson on the same spot again, this time gaining a shrill scream. "Don't be a smart mouth," he warned. "How are they going to do it?"

"They've gotten anti-aircraft missiles from some Scorched countries. They're going to shoot down the Bergs."

"Good," Thomas said with a nod. "Where's their hideout? City, street, everything."

"Ottawa. Ottawa-Toronto Road, State Building 488."


	26. Chapter 25

"What the shuck is that?" Thomas asked, running to join Minho, who slammed the hatch door shut.

"The Right Arm's firing at us!" Minho yelled from over the noise.

Thomas's eyes widened. How did the Right Arm know of their arrival? Or did they fire at all visitors? "What are they firing?"

"Launcher grenades!" Jorge's voice came from the cockpit.

Launcher grenades? Why wouldn't they be using standard bullets if they wanted them dead? Did the Right Arm want them alive?

"So … what do we do?" Thomas asked desperately.

"We need to get away from the city," Jorge replied. "About thirty miles from here. We just need to ensure–"

Jorge was cut off by a loud boom.

"What's that!" Thomas yelled.

"The emergency closet fell off!" Jorge yelled.

Thomas didn't need to be told that the emergency closet was where the parachutes were.

"Hold on, hermano!" Jorge yelled. "Seventeen miles!"

Thomas sprang to action. He ran to the main room, where the others were running around, wide-eyed in shock. Teresa, Anastasia, Gally, Aris, Sonya, Newt.

Teresa ran up to him. "What's going on!"

"Right Arm's firing," Thomas replied. "Get in the cockpit." Then he turned to face the crowd. "Get in the cockpit! Don't argue, just do it!"

Fortunately, they did as they were told without saying a word. The cockpit was the safest place in the Berg, Jorge had told him.

Thomas took up the rear as he shuffled the nine-person army into the cockpit.

"We're landing!" Jorge yelled. Another loud boom sounded, and this time Thomas could hear the sound of a crash from below. "The main room fell off!"

Thomas was glad he had gotten everyone into the cockpit. With a screeching sound, followed by a few distant booms, the Berg skidded to a halt. _Like a bicycle,_ Thomas thought. He was shocked by how little fear he felt.

Thomas exchanged a glance with Teresa, then with Minho. "We need to get out. Nowhere to hide in here."

They nodded, then tip-toed their way out of the cockpit. Thomas took a peek through the ajar hatchdoor. The terrible landing had taken a toll on the Berg's well-being. The casing was dented and mangled in places, and the engine unit had separated from the Berg and landed at least thirty metres away.

They were in an abandoned village. Perhaps a village that had been destroyed by the Right Arm. There were no trees for at least a disk of one kilometre radius, after which there was a dense forest.

It could be a trap. But with the shuck engine being separated from the Berg, not to mention the emergency closet and main room, and being surrounded with long-range Launchers … they didn't exactly have a choice.

"Tom?" Teresa whispered from behind. "What are you waiting for?"

"No, nothing, just … " If it was a trap, then Teresa, Minho, Anastasia, Sonya and himself would have already been spotted. He nudged Teresa in the side with his elbow. "Tell the rest to stay inside at all costs. Just me, you, Minho, Anastasia."

Teresa didn't waste time arguing. She passed the message back to the cockpit, and the Vaidehites seemed more than happy to oblige.

"Come on," Thomas whispered.

Minho closed the hatch door behind him, and they walked through the sorry excuse for a street that they had. There were houses on both sides of the street. All marked and labeled with numbers and the names of the owners …

Then Thomas noticed a strange abnormality in the names. _Mrs Jonas. Mr Mary. Ms Steven. Mr Jane._ He turned around to face the rest, who had obviously not noticed the abnormality.

"We're shucked," he muttered. "Look at the names. They're randomised. It's a trap."

The Vaidehites' eyes widened in realisation, except Sonya's, whose eyes held guilt … what did it mean?

Before he had time to process any of it, the doors to the homes burst open. _All_ of them. Simultaneously. Guards came pouring out. There had to be hundreds of them, all lined up across the street. Launchers were pointed at the Vaidehites.

"Put down your weapons!" One of them bellowed. Thomas exchanged a glance with Minho, then dropped his guns. They didn't have a choice. Everything they had planned seemed stupid now. Stupid to send the most important Keepers out on a war. Stupid to think they could just go around throwing explosives. Stupid to not bring Transvices, just because the Right Arm headquarters were built from Trans-resistant material. Stupid to just barge out of the Berg.

"We were stupid to bring an army of four people here," Thomas whispered, deliberately loudly, but making sure he didn't sound like someone who wanted his enemy to hear his lie. Which he was. His friends nodded, indicating that they got the message, and Anastasia muttered a "yeah".

"And for shuck's sake, Minho," Thomas said in a harsh whisper. "Don't go around punching the guards. We're shucked, but we don't need to get ourselves any more shucked."

"Good that you realise that," a Guard said, then barked a laugh. "You're right. We don't mind giving you some battle scars, even if Vince wants you alive."


	27. Chapter 26

Thomas took in his surroundings. It was a bland, padded room, probably a thousand square feet. with an observation window on one wall, and a mirror on the opposite one. In the very centre of the room was a chair, and next to it a toolbox. Thomas didn't need to be told that he was being led into an interrogation room.

"Take a seat," the man said in a cruel tone. His voice was muffled by his mask, but Thomas found the voice remotely familiar. He had dealed with the Right Arm before. What did it mean … ?

Thomas did as he told, and plonked his butt down on the chair. Just as he did so, two straps flew from the sides of the chair and buckled to each other. Thomas tried his best not to be scared, or at least to act like he wasn't, despite having his hands and feet tied up and being bound to a chair in an interrogation room.

His escort removed his mask, and Thomas's eyes widened at what he saw.

It was Lawrence.

Thomas realised he shouldn't be so surprised, after all.

"Such a pity," the man said. "Few months back, we were on the same side. But you turned your back on us."

"I didn't turn my back on you," Thomas spat. "You turned your back on us. Imagine my surprise when I found that you shucks were planning to _destroy_ WICKED, and not take over."

Lawrence sneered, and there was something very frightening about it.

"Why're you doing this?" Thomas continued. "Why would you want to join Janson? Why do you want to stop the vaccine distribution?"

Lawrence raised an eyebrow. "You don't get it, do you? The Cranks are on Janson's side, the Immunes … well, the sensible Immunes who care for their own future, who don't want annoying 'uninfected's competing with them, on ours. For now, we've struck an alliance. An alliance against Ava and your lot. Janson's side will die out in the end, die out to the Flarehe doesn't realise that."

Suddenly, everything came into place for Thomas. The solar Flares, the Flare, everything that had happened … it had made people selfish beyond imagination, hungry for resources. Had Vince been Immune all the while? But to Thomas, only one thing mattered. Eliminating the shucks. "How'd you know we were coming?"

The man grimaced a little. "You trust your friends too much."

Thomas's eyes widened. "Who … ?" although he was terrified of the answer.

"A young lady by the name of Sonya. You see, all she cared for is the safety of her old friend Harriet."

Thomas was shocked into silence. Sonya's strange behaviour throughout the trip, taking frequent trips to the toilet, blaming the 'menustral cycle'. _How many periods do you have in a month?_ Minho had asked. Sonya had lied about Harriet's suicide. It made sense. Sonya would never have chosen to kill Harriet when given a choice between Rachel and Harriet. Thomas felt rage build up in his veins.

"Anyway," Lawrence said, snapping Thomas out of his thoughts. "Now it's us doing the questioning, and you'll give us the answers. Got it?"

 _Nope,_ Thomas thought. Not a word of truth would come out of his mouth. But he wouldn't make stuff up, either. He had the telepathic connection with Teresa, but they hadn't planned a cover, and Minho and the rest had no way of co-ordinating their responses with them. Then Thomas noticed the metal mesh running across the walls of the room. And he noticed Teresa's absence in his skull. He wouldn't be able to communicate with her, even if they had a plan.

"Where's the rest of Ava's team?" was Lawrence's first question.

"I don't know."

"I don't take that as an answer."

"That _is_ my answer. I _don't know_." In truth, he did. Rachel had found out from the computer in Block K.

He did the only thing he could do. Put his thoughts somewhere else. He pictured a vast landscape of hills, pristine rivers running through, waterfalls, trees, squirrels–

A sharp pain shot through his body. Lawrence had pried a nail out. He winced internally, he wanted to cry out loud, but he didn't. He wanted to scream and bite, but he didn't. Tears stung at his eyes, but he didn't let them flow.

Lawrence continued questioning. Thomas continued ignoring, trying his best to put his thoughts elsewhere, but failed. He lost two more nails, got patches of hair pulled out, then finally lost the tip of his left little finger. Then he got nails dug into his bones.

He choked with pain, yelped once or twice, and a war raged on his insides, but did everything to make sure it didn't show. He looked Lawrence square in the eye. "I'm not going to tell you anything," he spat. "Best you don't waste your energy."

Lawrence raised an eyebrow, then retreated a few steps, before taking a phone out of his pocket. Lawrence covered his mouth and spoke in low whispers, but Thomas could make out a few words.

" … says nothing … She cries? Good … put … on line. He's useless anyway … mail."

Thomas couldn't make out what Lawrence meant, but he just hoped his suffering hadn't been in vain. He had faith in Teresa, and also Minho … but what about Anastasia?

"Get up, kid!" the man yelled, then grimaced. "Oh, you can't. Sorry."

He sneered and detached Thomas from his chair, then yanked him to his feet. Thomas considered grabbing the gun from Lawrence, but he didn't. There was little he could do before more guards came, with his limbs tied up. Thomas refuse to help by walking, only let Lawrence drag him forward.

He mentally made a map of the turns through which Lawrence was taking him, hoping that it would eventually be of use. In the Maze, Thomas had always thought that his ability to navigate came from his innate sense of direction. The Scorch, a vast wasteland of nothingness, was a different thing, but navigating through the Underneath with Brenda, and then the WICKED headquarters before his memories were returned, proved that his sense of direction in the Maze came from one thing and one thing only. The fact that he had designed it.

"We're here," Lawrence said with another sneer. Thomas wondered if Lawrence had always been good at sneering, or had learnt it from Janson.

It took only a moment for Thomas to realise what was going on. He was in Teresa's room, and Anastasia was by his side - Teresa was as bloodied as Thomas was, but Anastasia showed fewer wounds - he didn't know what to make out of that. He realised this was part of Teresa's interrogation.

Lawrence left the room, and he was left with another guard he didn't know, who, unfortunately, looked even more fearsome than Lawrence.

"Now," the man said, turning to face Teresa. "Tell me the location of your paradise," he waved his gun between Thomas and Anastasia, "one of them goes."

Teresa's face went pale with shock. Thomas caught her gaze, and mouthed a silent 'don't tell' to her. Luckily, Teresa said nothing.

"Fine," the guard said. "We'll let you choose. Whom do we shoot?"

Teresa's gaze met the guard's, and a single tear rolled down her cheek. Thomas felt terribly, terribly guilty for the whole situation.

"Tell me, or I'll choose for you," the man said with a sneer.

Teresa raised her right arm slowly, and pointed at Anastasia. "Kill her."

"Fine," the guard said, and raised his gun. But the barrel of the gun was pointed at Thomas.


	28. Chapter 27

Thomas heard a sharp cry from Teresa. Just as the guard reached for the trigger, he did the only thing he could do.

He pushed off with both feet, and launched himself and the chair he was strapped to, towards the guard. The chair grated across the ground on the vertex of its seat, and seizing the guard's brief moment of hesitation, Thomas rotated to connect the chair's right foreleg with the barrel of the gun, and then the guard's head.

The guard crashed onto the floor, and in some corner of his mind, Thomas noted that the observers in the window had missed the whole chain of events. He brought the right hindleg of the chair down on the man's head, and a crack sounded. But it was not from the chair. It was from the man's skull.

Thomas reached for a knife from the toolbox, hands still tied, and spun the knife backwards to tear the tape off his hands. Quickly freeing himself, then Teresa, then Anastasia, he took the man's gun into his own pocket, and the trio armed themselves with every knife and screwdriver they could find. Thomas plunged a screwdriver into the guard's head - he didn't want to waste bullets - to ensure he was dead, and hid the guard's body behind a wall where the observers would not see him.

They ran out of the room, and along a series of hallways, stopping at every turn to ensure no guards were present.

At the third turn, Thomas found a guard. Taking opportunity of the guard's hesitation, Thomas launched a knife at him, feeling a sickening pleasure as blood oozed out of his chest. Grabbing the knife and the guard's weapons - a gun and a launcher - along the way, they made it to the central intersection where four hallways connected. They ran along the hallway along which Minho had been dragged, and followed the same directions that had led to their own interrogation rooms.

They found Minho's room by the fifth turn.

Taking them all by surprise, Minho was untied, and was punching the living klunk out of his captor.

"Minho!" Thomas shouted, relieved to see he was okay. "Enough, we've gotta get out of here!"

Minho looked up in surprise, then plunged a knife into the guard's chest. "Good that."

Thomas noticed two dead bodies hanging from the observation window. Thomas smiled to himself - Minho had shot his observers dead, and had been punching his captor for entertainment.

Thomas fired a shot at the window as they reached the central intersection. "We'll climb out of the window," he said. "They probably have guards swarming around the lift and stairs."

"Wait," Teresa said, the first she had spoken since ages, then fired an electric light show down the shattered window with her launcher. "Just making sure."

They reached their Berg, or the small fraction of their Berg, within no time. Fortunately, the group had listened and stayed within the Berg.

"Grab some first aid kits and supplies," Thomas directed, refusing to answer any questions. "This is probably going to be one long trek."

They ran towards the forestline, meeting no more guards or traps along the way. As they snuck into the forest, nobody asked a word about Sonya. They probably all assumed she was dead - only Thomas knew the truth. He would tell them later. Right now, getting to safety was most important.

Anastasia and Aris worked on Teresa's and Thomas's wounds. It was only now that the real pain of them started to hit Thomas. When the wounds were being inflicted upon him, Thomas had tried his best to keep his attention elsewhere, to avoid noticing the pain. And after that, when running through the hallways of the Right Arm's building, the adrenaline rush had helped him ignore the throbbing pain.

"I'm so sorry," Teresa whispered to Thomas, her eyes glazed over, then pressed her face to his chest, wrapped her arms around his torso. "I didn't know they would–"

"It's okay," Thomas quickly interrupted, then wrapped his own arms around her, squeezing her tightly. "I know. Your sister's the one you should be talking to right now." The girl had been giving Teresa the cold shoulder ever after Teresa had directed the guard to 'kill her'.

Teresa pulled away to look at him, then nodded. Unable to stop himself, Thomas cupped Teresa's face with his hands, and closed the distance between their lips.

They kissed, and something spread through chest and to the rest of his body, dissolving every bit of pain he felt from the torture.

"There's an old WICKED base some fifty miles away from here," Teresa informed. "Used to be some kind of a hideout for the PFC staff till rebels took over."

"How do you know?" Thomas asked curiously.

"I lived near there," Teresa informed, then nodded toward Anastasia. "The rebels were some weird bunch of PFC employees. Cranks, I think. They tried to sacrifice me back to my village and stuff."

"Fifty miles," Thomas considered, then sighed. "We don't have any food, but we don't have a choice, either."

"Water wouldn't be a problem," Minho said. "There're plenty of lakes."

Nobody said it, but they had dropped the mission to destroy the Right Arm.

Their mission had become an escape mission.


	29. Chapter 28

After three hours of walking, they came across a truck. Minho had been the first to spot it. It was covered with a thick layer of dust, but otherwise, it was mostly free of damage.

"Anyone can drive a shuckin' truck, here?" Aris asked, surprising everyone with his use of Glader slang. "Um … shootin' truck."

The Gladers burst into laughter, but Thomas's thoughts were elsewhere. It all sounded too good to be true. Plus, it wasn't the first time a truck had been used as a trap against him. "We should check if it's a trap," he said. "The Right Arm has been good at that."

The Vaidehites looked around the truck, checking every component from cardboard boxes to the wheels to the engine, but there was nothing. No explosives, no spy recorders, no spies.

"I can drive a truck," Jorge informed. "But beware, not as smoothly as my Berg."

"Wait a second," Aris said, looking around. "Where's Sonya?"

"I don't care!" Thomas snapped, then realised none of them had an idea about Sonya's spying. "She was a spy all along. For the Right Arm. She lied about Harriet's suicide. The Right Arm had captured Harriet and used her as hostage to blackmail her. Lawrence said so."

The Vaidehites were shocked into silence.

"Anyway," Minho said, breaking the silence. "Shuck Sonya, shuck the Squarers." He cast a nasty glare at Aris, like he were somehow responsible for Sonya's activities. "Let's focus on getting to safety."

"Good that," Thomas said in agreement.

Less than an hour after the truck started, when they had to be at least a total of thirty kilometres from the Right Arm's village, they spotted what appeared to be a small shack in the middle of a clearing.

"It could be another trap," Minho mused. "Or it may have supplies."

"I'll go check," Thomas suggested. "If I cry like a baby, open fire. They would have me surrounded, so I'll be fine."

"No way, dude!" Minho said, putting his arm out to stop Thomas from moving. "You're battered enough."

"Exactly," Thomas countered. "It's best if I go, since I'm bruised already. Last thing we need is more people getting bashed up." Anastasia had apparently given the Right Arm false information, since she knew the rest of them would be silent.

"I'm coming with you, then," Teresa interrupted. "I'm bashed up already, too."

Thomas glanced at her. She was just as injured as he was. "Fine," he said. "As long as you don't decide to get crushed by a ceiling, that is."


	30. Chapter 29

Thomas tried to jerk open the trapdoor. It creaked, and a piece of rust crumbled and fell into the abyss beneath. He shook the trapdoor again, and more rust crumbled, revealing more of the inside. In the light of Teresa's flashlight, all he could see was the ground, and a few bookshelves or racks or whatever those were. He brought his right palm down on the trapdoor with full force, and it splintered into a dozen pieces before falling down.

"What _is_ that?" Teresa asked.

By the shoddy appearance of the whole area, Thomas wouldn't be surprised if it were a drug smuggler's hideout. But in the dim light, he was able to see weapons. Explosives. Handheld weapons like launchers and guns. Transvices.

He exchanged a glance with Teresa before climbing down the ladder, his limbs hurting at the spots that nails had once been dug into.

Teresa followed him down, and shone her flashlight upon hitting the ground.

Thomas took in his surroundings. They were in a large underground chamber, with rows and rows of weapons. In the distance, he could see a Berg hangar.

"What are those?" Thomas asked, pointing at a pile of shiny grey balls.

"Bombvices," Teresa replied. "Like Transvices, but they annihilate a whole acre of land in a shot."

* * *

"Alright, here's the plan," Thomas said. "We can't just convert our mission into an escape mission. We've got to do what we came here for. Take down the Right Arm."

"We found a huge repository of weapons down there," Teresa explained to the confused lot. "There are Bombvices and their launchers, then there are Launch-bombs and all sorts of other explosives we can use. We can guard our Berg with the ordinary handhelds, and rain explosives down on Ottawa."

"I still have the device the Right Arm used to take down WICKED," Thomas offered. "The weapons down in the shack aren't Chiswell's - they're from some old Chinese organisation that no longer exists," Thomas continued, recalling the logo he had spotted on the weapons down there. "And the Right Arm's device - it can do more than simply disable weapons - it's a whole weapon manager."

"What the shuck is a weapon manager?" Minho inquired.

"It can do anything and everything dealing with the weapons. And I think I can program it to deal with weapons other than Chiswell's, too. At least the insecure once, which these probably are. And Bergs. We can automate them, do whatever."

"Automate them?" Aris asked. "Why–"

"Patience," Thomas ordered, holding his right hand up. "Like I said, there's a Berg hangar down there. There must be at least a hundred of them. So here's what I suggest. Take at least twenty Bergs, co-ordinate the flying of the Bergs, and stock ten of them up with weapons. We stay here. Every one of us stays here. We'll remotely control the Bergs, the firing, everything."

"We better disable the Berg Tracking System," Jorge suggested. "Can't have them uncovering our little hideout."

"Yeah." Thomas turned to Teresa. "You and Minho plan the details of the actual attack. I don't care how much you hate each other. I'll reprogram the device. Jorge, go deal with the Bergs. Set up a co-ordination between them, disable the Berg Tracking system, stock them up with weapons, get them out, everything. Work with Teresa and Minho. Aris, I officially designate you my assistant for the next four hours."

* * *

Teresa came back to him in three hours.

"We're done with the plan for the attack," Teresa informed. "The Bombvices won't destroy their infrastructure, but they'll kill the people. The Launchbombs will screw up their electronics. Here's all the details," she handed him a piece of paper. "We can't have too many weapons stocked up, unless we want to destroy the whole of former Canada. And we'll be attaching the Bergs to one another so they don't fall down unless all of them are damaged. We need to be shrewd with the density of the attack so none of Ottawa is spared."

Thomas had a glance at the piece of paper. The attack was more than well-planned. Every launch was carefully calculated. More than enough for Thomas to do his work.

"Good that," he said. "Where did you get a map of Ottawa?"

"I brought it with me," Teresa said with a shrug. "Printed it back in Vaidehi."

Vaidehi. _Shuck,_ Thomas thought. _I'm getting homesick._ "Go find Jorge. Give him the details of stocking the Berg up."

* * *

"Four hours over, man!" Aris yelled triumphantly.

"I officially designate you my assistant for another half an hour," Thomas said with a roll of eyes, shutting him up.

"What's taking so long?" Thomas turned around to see Jorge standing behind him.

"The device is _laggy_ ," Thomas said. "Not my fault."

"It's twenty o' clock," Jorge said. "I'm hungry and sleepy."

Thomas glanced at his own watch. He had completely lost track of the time. The pain in his body, and the programming of the device seemed to be the only two things in his mind. "I'll be done soon."

* * *

It was 20:30 when Thomas finished his job. "It'll work," he said. "The device has a greater range than you'd expect it to. I've disabled all range restrictions."

"We don't need a huge range," Teresa replied with a yawn, lying down next to him in the boot of the truck. "We just need to control the Bergs and the weapons on them."

"Uh … no," Thomas said. "It's going to disable every single weapon in Ottawa."

Teresa's eyes widened. "Can't believe I didn't think of that. So we can destroy their entire city, and they'll be unable to fight back?"

Thomas yawned. "Probably. The best they could do them is catapult knives and spears at us."

"Why don't you think the Right Arm disabled all the weapons when hijacking the WICKED headquarters?"

Thomas hadn't thought about that till now. "I don't know," he replied, but then a thought occurred to him. "Maybe Charlotte Chiswell didn't want to buy arms from elsewhere."

"Well, that's a hell lot of selfishness."

"It's a pretty selfish world, it seems. WICKED … is … the only … utilita…rian … " Sleep came over him before he could finish.


	31. Chapter 30

"The best time to attack will be at noon," Thomas thought aloud. "Ava said the Right Arm has a large cafeteria where their employees eat."

"But I'm hungry!" Minho protested. "We didn't eat an ounce since yesterday morning."

"Then deal with it," Thomas snapped. "You survived three days without food before the Scorch trials. Twenty four hours is a piece of klunk."

"What about Harriet and Sonya?" Anastasia asked.

"Shuck them!" was Minho's only response.

"Right," Thomas agreed, turning around to face Teresa's sister. "Shuck them. Shuck those traitors. Shuck them along with every other shuck Right Arm employee."

"We need to think about Harriet," Anastasia said. "Sonya is a traitor, but–"

Thomas interrupted her. "Sonya is a traitor, but Harriet is not. But if we risk millions of lives to save one Harriet, we'd be no better than Sonya is. Harriet is not an important person."

Anastasia's eyes widened. "We can't go around judging people's importance! We have to–"

"Shuck it," Thomas cut her off. "Trying to rescue Harriet has negative utility, is all I'm saying."

Anastasia shot a nasty glare at Thomas, then at Teresa, and then at Minho, before storming off, muttering something about 'innocent people'.

"I _hate_ that shuck," Minho muttered. "We were talking about important things, like food, and she has to bring up Harriet's freakin' life."

 _I'll be waiting behind the shack,_ Teresa thought to him. _I need to talk to you._

* * *

Teresa took a deep breath before speaking. "Tom, I agree with everything you said there, but we can't go around telling people the blunt truth. You need to learn to sugarcoat things. You did it during the counselling sessions before sending the Gladers into the Maze, and I expect you to do it now. We can't make people utilitarians overnight, so we need to explain the utilitarian course of action to them in a way that appeals to their emotions."

Thomas nodded in agreement. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You'redoing the right thing. Just learn how to talk to people."

"You're the one talking," Thomas said with a roll of eyes, then punched her lightly in the shoulder. "I'm good at it. I'll do better next time."

* * *

"The Right Arm is releasing anti-aircraft missiles against our Bergs!" Jorge shouted frantically.

Thomas raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Show me the camera feeds."

Jorge grabbed Thomas by the arm and led him to the cockpit of the rested Berg. Thomas glanced at the camera feeds. Jorge was right about the anti-aircraft missiles, but they were all launched from the other corner of the city where the weapons disabling had not took place yet.

"The Bergs will survive this much?" Thomas asked. "The disabling will take place across the city as soon as the Bergs reach the city centre. The Bergs will survive these many?"

"Probably," Jorge said with a curt nod.

Thomas counted the missiles. There were less than a dozen of them. "Half of them will survive even at worst-case scenario. Enough to keep the rest in the air. As long as the weapons room doesn't get detached."

And then the firing started. The Launcher bombs were launched in simultaneity, spraying themselves across the city as the line of Bergs started spinning rapidly, supported by the Bergs on each side thrusting in opposite directions. The entire city burst out in a dazzling flash of bright colour, then began shaking, crumbling, collapsing on itself, a convection current forming in the air between the particles.

Then came the flames. The Bergs continued rotating, this time spraying Flamer bombs, causing the city to glow brightly, sparks of fire leaping into the air.

"Now I feel kinda bad for them," Thomas turned around to see Minho standing behind him, his back leaned against the wall.

Thomas scoffed. "They're all Right Arm employees. Zero collateral damage." He paused. "Besides Harriet."

* * *

"We flattened their shuckin' city!" Minho exclaimed triumphantly, sounding more excited than Thomas had ever seen him. In fact, Thomas had never seen Minho seem excited.

"We're not done yet," Thomas replied. "That trap village. Lawrence was my interrogator. I'm suspecting they're going to be having some of the high-rank officials hiding in there."

He turned to Jorge. "How much ammunition's left?"

"Couple of Bombvices," Jorge replied, nodding at the camera feeds. "Should be just right to flatten their village, which is definitely not made of Trans-resistant material."

"Great," Thomas replied. "I'll leave that to you." Then he turned to Teresa. "There are some … even more important matters."

Minho was the first to speak. "What?"

Thomas had been dreading to bring that up, but he knew he had to. "This hideout we found … we don't know whom it belongs to. The equipment belong to an old Chinese manufacturer, but who knows? Maybe it's a terrorist group. We don't have a clue. And it's dangerous to just leave this stuff here. Whoever it belongs to, is obviously very rich, and either a state-sponsored organisation or a terrible criminal."

There was silence.

Jorge was first to break the silence. "I checked the Berg tracking systems. They're blank."

That only worsened Thomas's suspicions. "If they're blank, someone must have _cleaned_ them. Because the Bergs have obviously been used in the past." He paused. "We need to get to that WICKED base, get rested, then we need to report this hideout. And we can't use their Bergs. If they're a terrorist group, last thing we want is to get shot down."

* * *

"What the shuck are those?" Minho asked, pointing at the forestline. Thomas followed his gaze and spotted the face of a wild cat staring at them, looking to attack. Then he realised there were at least thirty of them.

"Mountain lions," Thomas thought aloud, then grabbed his Launcher. The cougars charged forward, and Thomas released a spray of Launcher grenades at them.

Minho, unfortunately, had other ideas.

He ran forward, pouncing on one of the beasts, a smaller, frailer one, somehow managing to topple it over, then begun his routine of punching the living klunk out of it. Thomas stood frozen to the ground, shocked at what was happening. Of course, Minho's advantage did not last long. The beast sprung back to life, springing itself onto Minho's body, clawing at his arm.

Thomas snapped out of his daze and jumped onto the beast, refusing to think about Minho's idiotic act. He slammed his launcher onto its head repeatedly, but the animal showed no signs of pain or retreat, and did not loosen its grip on Minho's arm.

Thomas fired a grenade at the beast, sending both Minho and the creature into tendrils of lightning.

"Sorry," he muttered, then tied off Minho's arm with a plastic sheet before dragging him to the Berg, so as to prevent the shock from conducting into his own body.

"What the shuck happened to him?" Teresa asked, shocked, when Thomas entered the main area of the Berg, dragging a trembling and badly bruised Minho by his side.

"Got mauled by a mountain lion, then shot with my Launcher," Thomas replied curtly. "Get him medical attention, I've got to drag those cougars away."

* * *

"What the shuck, dude?" Minho asked when he woke up. "What kind of a friend shoots you with a freakin' Launcher?"

"The kind who doesn't want to see him torn to shreds by a mountain lion," Thomas deadpanned in response.

"Hermano, if you want to impress your girlfriend, go fight a bull or a dog. Not a mountain lion," Jorge added. "And do it when she's actually around."

"Dude, I wasn't trying to impress anybody!" Minho said, holding his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. "It's instinct."

"Instinct?" Thomas questioned. "Most of your years were spent fighting Grievers. I sure hope you didn't try to wrestle one of those."

"Oh, he didn't fight Grievers," Jorge commented with a wink. "In fact, it was probably the Grievers you were trying to impress back then."

"Shut your hole!" Minho hissed.


	32. Chapter 31

The truck arrived at the old WICKED base, which was now a base for the vaccine distribution group. The group held up the identity cards that had been assigned to them by Ava Paige.

"Who's in charge of this facility?" Thomas asked. "There's a lot to talk about."

Two guards - a short, pudgy man who somewhat resembled Vince, and a tall, dark-skinned woman - exchanged a glance, then contacted Ava Paige. After a few seconds, the man spoke.

"We'll arrange a meeting for you with Dr West. By the way, I wanted to say that you're celeberities at the WICKED … er … VDP facilities. We all saw the flattening of Ottawa on TV. I don't know how you guys managed it."

Thomas forced a smile. His body was in too much pain to form a genuine smile.

* * *

Dr West was a tall young man with short blonde hair. "My sincere, sincere, congratulations to you all," he started. "The threat of the Right Arm … anyway, you called for me?"

Thomas nodded. "First, we have some good news," he began. "The Right Arm has been completely annihilated. One of our camera footages contain a video of Vince being killed by a Bombvice."

"First, we have some good news," Thomas started. "The Right Arm has been completely annihilated. One of our camera footages contain a video of Vince being killed by a Bombvice."

Dr West's eyes widened. "A Bombvice? Those things were banned ever since WICKED came to power."

Thomas nodded. "I should start from the beginning. As our Berg flew over Ottawa, the Right Arm sent missiles after it and damaged it. We landed in a clearing thirty miles North of Ottawa, an abandoned village, but it ended up being a trap. They caught us and tried to interrogate us, but we told them nothing."

"Sonya was a spy," Teresa added.

Dr West's eyes shot up. "Sonya? You mean … she entered this very facility yesterday. Claimed she was separated from the rest when your Berg fell into pieces."

"You haven't told her anything, have you?" Thomas asked. "Not that it matters now," he quickly added. "The Right Arm is finished."

"No," Dr West replied. "But we'll cancel her identity cards and all. Is there anything else?"

"So, as I was saying," Thomas continued. "We managed to escape the interrogation building and captured a truck. And then we stumbled upon a hideout full of weapons and military Bergs which we used to flatten Ottawa. But we think it might be a terrorist hideout of some kind. The weapons were made by an organisation called Jundui Duixiang. That mean anything to you?"

Dr West raised an eyebrow. "Jundui Duixiang is not real," he said, then took in a deep breath. "It was an alias under which the Post-Flares Coalition operated under during the release of the Flare."

Thomas was surprised. "Well, that explains the Bergs … but what about all the weapons?"

"The PFC was a highly bureaucratic and messy organisation," Dr West explained. "Corruption was rampant, and a lot of funds were diverted into the production of weaponry or valuable objects."

"And you just _let them be_?" Thomas asked, shocked. "What if someone comes across them? Heck, what if the Right Arm had found that shack and went nutso, bombing every WICKED facility in the world?"

"I'm really sorry," Dr West replied. "When we rebelled against the PFC, the groups who eventually formed WICKED, we seized all such facilities. This one must have … We'll destroy the facility."

"Okay," Thomas said. "We'll direct you to it. And then we'll need medical attention. Food and medical attention. Teresa and I got badly bashed up in the interrogation, and Minho here," he elbowed the former Glader in the side - "decided to have a wrestling match with a mountain lion."


	33. Chapter 32

"Home, sweet home!" Minho exclaimed, his arms falling to his side as they emerged through the Flat Trans and into Vaidehi, Sonya in tow.

Newt was first to spot them as they rose from the trapdoor. "What the bloody hell happened to you three?" he asked, glancing between Thomas, Teresa, and Minho.

"Teresa and I got tortured by the Right Arm," Thomas said, nodding sideways at Teresa. "And Minho here tried to strangle a mountain lion until I had to shoot them both with a Launcher."

Newt shot Minho an incredulous look. "Just when I thought ya couldn't be more bloody psycho." Then he glanced at Thomas. "How'd you get patched up so well? I want the whole bloody story once you're all rested up."

"Good that," Thomas said, nodding in agreement. "And are you deliberately using your slang more to give us the nostalgia?"

A playful smirk danced on Newt's lips. "The _buggin'_ nostalgia, yes." And then he frowned. "I should've come with ya lot."

"No way," Thomas replied, shaking his head. "Like I'd said, we need at least one of the Keepers to stay back here at Vaidehi. Made most sense for you to stay, since you also run the court."

* * *

Thomas narrated the whole story to a startled audience, starting from the moment the Right Arm started firing at their Berg.

"Next time, we need to agree on a cover," he concluded. "I don't exactly fancy getting ripped to shreds in interrogation sessions."

"Definitely," Ava Paige agreed. "The Right Arm was obviously inexperienced in interrogation, otherwise it could have gone a lot worse."

"Yeah, I can imagine. Why do you think they interrogated us, anyway? Wasn't Sonya's spying enough?"

"Maybe they thought Sonya was revealing only the bare-minimum to keep Harriet safe," Ava suggested. "Despite everything, Sonya's intentions were only to safeguard her friend, rather than to betray us."

A strange silence hung around the room, as if they felt guilty for Harriet's death, sorry for Sonya. _It doesn't matter,_ Thomas decided. _She still sold us out. Punishment is necessary._

"We've been interrogating Janson and his team," Brenda said, breaking the silence. "There doesn't seem to be anything else. They didn't plan too well."

"Great," Thomas said, then paused. "Lawrence said that the psycho selfish Immunes tend to support the Right Arm, while the psycho selfish Cranks tend to support Janson's team. You think Vince is … _was_ Immune?"

"Vince was Immune," Ava confirmed. "Like you probably know by now, the Right Arm was a part of the Variables, that ended up carelessly discarded."

"Any news on the Maze replica in Iceland?" Thomas asked. "They destroyed it yet?"

Ava nodded in response. "Our troops have reached, and as per my last update, the explosives were being planted throughout the Maze." She paused. "Canberra and Juneau collapsed into chaos last month since we lost four Bergs to the Right Arm, but the situation is improving globally with city administrations taking better security measures since Denver. The Immune count has risen a mere 85% over the past seven months, due to wastage of resources on security measures against the Right Arm. I expect the vaccine distribution to improve significantly now that this major threat has been eliminated, and I hope your Immune rescue missions can be co-ordinated with our program."

* * *

Thomas balanced on the third branch, squinting again at the top of the tree. The tree _was_ tall. Much taller than he had first estimated - it had to be at least forty feet tall, the first he had seen of such a height since arriving at Vaidehi. He _had_ to see what that little device was.

He climbed to the fourth branch, and then the fifth, until he reached the last branch, that was probably the twentieth of the tree. The bark was too smooth to climb any further. Thomas looked around him, and did the only thing he could do.

He pushed off the branch, leaping as high into the air as he possibly could, catching a glance of the 'device'. It was a bird's nest. Before he had any time to process that, he was falling back down. He waved his arms around, catching branches, but slipped past them, falling flat on his butt and sending shockwaves of pain through his body.

 _Shuck_ , he thought. _Could've been worse. Could've meant death if I didn't catch the branches._

"Shuck, shuck, shuck," he muttered, then limped his way out of the forest and back into the Vaidehi city centre.

Newt, who was strolling out of his little court, probably after handing out a banishment to Sonya, stared at him in surprise.

"Bloody hell … why're ya limpin' like me?"

"Fell off a tree," Thomas responded. "I thought there was some kind of a spy device on top. Turned out to be a shuckin' bird's nest."

Newt buried his face in his palms. "Can't stay safe for five minutes, can ya, Tommy?"

* * *

"I'm taking a break tomorrow from the shuck Immune rescue activities," Minho announced. "Thomas, Teresa, I think you should follow suit. Getting ripped to shreds in an interrogation room … you've suffered more than me. Especially Thomas. You fell off a freakin' tree."

Teresa shrugged, and Thomas nodded reluctantly, then climbed into his mattress for the night. He did want to rescue as many Immunes as they could before their time ran out, but Minho was right - they needed a break. Going dressed up as Red Shirts and testing people for the Flare was not the safest plan, although it might help to use the identity cards that Ava had issued them.

* * *

Thomas woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of muffled whispers. He groaned and peeked out of his bed. It was Teresa, mumbling something in her sleep. From her breathing rate and the tense scowl on her face, it was probably a nightmare. Thomas reached down with his right arm and took her hand, then gently shook her awake - he knew Teresa wasn't particularly fond of nightmares.

Teresa's eyes fluttered open, and she gasped, then looked around, as if absorbing her surroundings.

 _What was the dream about?_ Thomas thought to her, afraid of waking the others up.

Teresa blinked, then gasped. _You're alive … the scene at the Right Arm's. Except you did get shot. And … and that I was the one pulling the trigger._

For some reason, as smile tugged at Thomas's lips. _You have one morbid imagination_ , he replied in her head.

A pleasant silence filled the air of the room as Thomas enjoyed the peace, his arm hanging over and fingers intertwined with Teresa's.

Then Teresa spoke. _Can you lie down next to me?_

 _What?_ Thomas felt the heat rise up to his cheeks - he was mortified by the idea, even if they _had_ first cuddled nearly three years ago, on Teresa's fifteenth birthday. _So Minho has a field day with his snide remarks?_

 _Oh, come on,_ she replied in a sappy tone. _What do you care what other people think?_

Thomas felt his smile widen. _Fine,_ he replied, then hopped down from his bed and into Teresa's, as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her face close to his chest. Teresa leaned up to kiss him on the lips, but Thomas resisted.

 _You sure you haven't tried eating klunk after that incident, right?_ He called into her mind.

Teresa rolled her eyes, and pressed her lips to his.

* * *

Thomas woke up to a faint light filtering through the curtain. Why could he see the curtain? Then he noticed Teresa, her hair brushing against his chin. Then he remembered the previous night. Teresa's ridiculous nightmare, waking her up, lying down next to her … heat rose to his cheeks.

He scooted backward a few inches, revealing Teresa's face. Her eyes were closed, and a calm smile was plastered across her face, but her uneven breathing gave her act away. He tapped her shoulder with his left palm. "Get up. You're doing a terrible job of pretending to be asleep."

Teresa's smile grew wider, and she finally opened her eyes, raising her gaze to meet his. "Good morning to you too."

In response, Thomas only brushed his lips against her hair, and then her lips.

And then he heard snickers behind him. He spun around immediately, pushing the blanket away. Minho and Newt stood before him, smirking and exchanging glances. Minho was the first to speak.

"Well, what do we have, _here_?"

Thomas exchanged a worried glance with Teresa. "I _told_ you this would happen," he growled.

"Shuckface, a bit too intimate to do this in public, don't you think?" Minho teased.

Thomas's eyes widened, and before he could stop himself, he blurted: "We did not have–"

"Tom!" Teresa shouted from behind him, punching him in the shoulder. Thomas lost his balance and crashed onto the floor.

"That's what they're thinking!" Thomas protested, turning his head to look at Teresa, who seemed like she would rather be anywhere else at the moment.

"It's okay, Tommy" Newt said in a teasing tone. "Didn't Mom tell us about repopulating the world and all that klunk?"

For some reason, what stood out more to Thomas than the embarrassment was that Newt had actually referred to Ava Paige as his mother. Nevertheless, he simply glared at the two of them.

"Shuckface, I'm gonna make sure everybody learns about this!" Minho announced.

Thomas jumped to his feet and covered the door of the room with his body. "Do that and I'll make sure the Beetle Blade tape of you kissing a Griever gets played in every Vaidehite's home!" He turned his gaze to Newt. "And you, too! Tell anyone and I'll … " he fished for something that would embarrass Newt, but found nothing.

"You'll what, Tommy?" Newt asked with a sly smile. "I don't have secrets. But I'll keep this little secret for ya, just ask nicely."

"Thanks," was all Thomas could manage, but Teresa had other plans. "Well, Newt, _you_ might not have secrets, but I'm sure there's a secret of Alby which you don't want people to know about. I guess that still qualifies as your secret."

Thomas didn't know what Teresa was talking about, but Newt looked mortified. "Alby wrote that!" he snapped. "I'm _not_ gay."

"True," Teresa conceded, "And that was exactly why Alby wrote that."

"What the shuck is this about?" Minho questioned, sounding annoyed, but things were beginning to fall into place for Thomas.

Teresa opened her mouth as if about to speak, casting a threatening glare in Newt's direction. "Don't you dare," Newt hissed at her. "I won't tell anyone of your cuddling business, and you won't talk about Alby being heartbro–" Newt stopped himself then blushed furiously. He glanced around the room, before turning his gaze back to Teresa. "Deal?"

"Deal!" Thomas and Teresa yelled back in unision.


	34. Epilogue

"Let's play Baggers and Slintheads!" this came from a small, scrawny boy who couldn't be older than five. Many of the younger kids who had been infants during their miraculous escape from the clutches of Janson, were now old enough to walk around and talk. They knew little, if anything, about the world outside.

"You must be a Crank!" yelled a small, pudgy girl who couldn't be older than six, and then collapsed into a fit of giggles. "To like that kind of game."

"What the _Scorch_?" the boy retorted. "I like it! So what?"

The two had a small stare-off, but their eyes started turning red in a matter of seconds, and the boy broke the stare and wiped thin tears off his cheeks.

"Hey, shuckfaces!" an unusually-low-pitched (considering the age of the source) voice sounded. "I'm the leader here, and I agree with Loki. We're playing Baggers and Slintheads. If you don't want to play, you can go ahead and shucking leave, slintheads."

This was Aiden, a seven-year-old kid who behaved like a mini-Minho. And with shanks like Minho using the Glader slang like _shuck_ and even _slinthead_ so frivolously, the younger kids were probably completely unaware that they were abusive words, or the fact that they were used to circumvent WICKED's ban on expletives before the Originals entered the Glade.

The girl began to wail, while the scrawny boy, Loki, began to dance around triumphantly, furiously wiping the tears off his cheeks. "You're the Crank! You're the Crank!" he began to chant.

"Then you're a _Griever_!" The girl snarled.

"You're a _Bulb monster_!" Loki retorted. "Rose is a Bulb Monster, Rose is a Bulb Monster!"

"At least I took someone's nose!" Rose snapped, then walked off to entertain herself with pebbles.

 _I wonder if they'll ever understand,_ Thomas commented. _The true meanings of the words they refer to so nonchalantly._

Teresa rolled her eyes and propped her head on Thomas's shoulder. _Tom, you're_ _nineteen. You're talking like you're ninety._

Thomas didn't respond, but Teresa knew what he was thinking. Working for WICKED, the trials, the battles thereafter … it had all aged them, mentally. Impossibly, Thomas didn't seem to mind. _Keeps us nimble, I guess_ , he had once said.

Thomas waited for minutes before responding. _Well, I hope they never have to understand._

 **Author's note:**

 **Sequel: The Draconian Orders [s/11506278]**


End file.
